The Ripple Effect
by Kay Gryffin
Summary: "Dreams and memories last forever—they transform, and they drift from person to person and imprint themselves in the Earth. They are infinite. INFINITE." AU story. How does the death of one person affect the lives of many? And how long is too long when it comes to mourning? WARNING: will contain yaoi, mentions of rape, dom/sub, sexual abuse, and violence (among things).
1. Never Forget and Always Remember

**What's this? Kay-Gryffin's got a new multichapter fic she's writing AT THE SAME TIME AS ANOTHER FIC? What in the world? **

**Well, read it and weep, folks, because it ****_is_**** a new multichapter fic that I'm writing at the same time as another fic. Writing stories is really tough, and while I love working on ****We Rise Above****- believe me, I do- I sometimes need a break. This story seems to be that break. I've got plans to finish, and I will do my best to finish this story alongside my other. **

**So, what can I say about this... sad. It's definitely a sad story. I mean I put these characters through a depression, and I'm curious to see if my readers (if there are any) can figure out the reasons for why they're depressed. **

**Pairings... I'll make them up as I go along, but the main characters are Sasuke, Naruto, Shikamaru, and, of course, Hinata. Obviously, because I'm sick, Sasuke's pairing is predetermined (Sasu/Kiba, of course) so they're my primary. **

**This is, like most of my fics, unbeta'd and raw. Barely any editing or prethought came before I uploaded. I'm just doing what feels right, and this feels so right. I have a good feeling about this. Fingers crossed :)**

**Well, enjoy this first chapter (which is like a prologue, it just tells you the background). I don't own Naruto, obviously. **

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

The Ripple Effect

"Lay your feelings bare,  
Along with the huge love you feel:  
The tears you cry will change your destiny.  
Let your heartbeat echo through the dark.  
We're sure to meet,  
At the flag of that same pain."

* * *

Cold-hearted, is the devil's mistress Death.

She does not choose who deserves it the most, but chooses who She may. She does not care about whom She picks to take, does not know the challenges they managed to surpass and conquer. She just takes them, without care to the damage She does to the people closest to them. Death is the worst evil in this world, to all things that are alive, because She reminds them of the truth: all people are made to die one day, because that is the truth of life:

Nothing can stay.

Nothing is ever the same.

The ripples that we may cause in this world one day have to die. The ripples can affect all they want, but the key to them, with Death, is identifying the proverbial rock that caused them. If we can do that, then the people whom Death steals from us live forever—within memories and our dreams. Dreams and memories last forever—they transform, and they drift from person to person and imprint themselves in the Earth.

They are infinite.

_Infinite._

* * *

The day of Itachi Uchiha's funeral was the saddest day that Fugaku had ever experienced in his life. He stood over the pale marble headstone, his onyx eyes downcast and empty, completely devoid of life. The rain fell onto the nape of his neck, pressing his overlong hair onto the back of his neck. He'd long since put down the umbrella he'd been holding for the whole of the burial, and he really couldn't find it in him to pick it back up. If he died of pneumonia, he wouldn't exactly be depressed about it.

He could remember clearly the day that Itachi was born. It was the first and last time that he saw a baby straight out of a woman—he decided that blue, alien-like, and screaming was not something he was overly fond of seeing, even if it were his child. When he saw him clean and fed, he decided that he liked his second-time opinion of his son rather than the first one, which earned him a smack outside the head from Mikoto, and another one from her best friend and his son's godmother, Kushina Uzumaki. Her fiancé, Minato Namikaze, decided it would be best to stay out of this one, and simply listened to Fugaku's whispered advice to not say yes to the doctor when asked to cut the umbilical cord.

The rest was almost dreamlike—Itachi began to grow up. He was an intelligent kid, more intelligent than most. He was always on the short side, and would rather read a book than start a conversation with children his age, but had no problem talking with younger kids. It became obvious as he got older and older that he just had a gift for being good with young children. He always knew exactly what to say, which made him Fugaku's helper when his second child, Sasuke, came around. Sasuke was nothing like Itachi had been—he was loud, attention-grabbing, and, when he got older, slightly obnoxious to people he didn't know. Luckily, Itachi was there to keep the younger Uchiha out of trouble, especially when Mikoto died in a car accident when Sasuke was eight.

Itachi had been only thirteen, and should've been out enjoying himself, but he decided to help his father with his younger brother instead, staying home and allowing Fugaku to relax as he entertained Sasuke, who had really taken his mother's death to heart. Sasuke had adored his mother—they were exceptionally close—and had refused to have human contact after she died. Itachi had forced him into making friends, into living a life, while his own social life took an extreme dip. He had been left with only a few friends—an annoying blond pyromaniac, an extremely morbid redheaded puppeteer, a silver-haired vulgar little God-freak, and his much older cousin with the mask fetish, who had too many faults for Fugaku to even want to think about.

All his time was spent with Sasuke, and so he only had friends left who were willing to help them with him. It was basically like Fugaku's home had become a halfway house for these wayward children; more often than not they were all passed out in his living room, bags of Cheetos and Doritos on the floor and couch, an episode of Yu-Gi-Oh! playing on the TV, Sasuke cuddled into either Itachi or Obito's laps.

Fugaku never minded this. He was glad to see that his son had friends.

This went on for a couple of years. He was more than happy to see Sasuke amass his own friends, thanks to Itachi's efforts: Minato and Kushina's only son, Naruto; Hiashi Hyūga's oldest daughter, Hinata; Shikaku Nara's only son, Shikamaru (and, by default, Chōza Akimichi's son, Chōji). They oftentimes came over to Fugaku's house, mingling with the older kids that were Itachi's closest friends. Fugaku had worried that there would be issues, but much to his surprise, they seemed to get on just fine, especially when they watched Shikamaru kick Hidan's ass at strategic board games and caused his cursing to increase ten-fold.

For a long time, they were living in peace. Sasuke was happy with his friends. Itachi was happy because Sasuke was happy. And Fugaku was happy because his sons were. He didn't want to think that any of their prosperity would end, and that seemed to be where he made his mistake—the Uchiha, it seemed, were always slated for despair.

When Itachi was eighteen, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. It had been the worst night of Fugaku's life. Itachi had been feeling chest aches and pains for months, and had developed a horrible cough only a month before his diagnosis. It was when he coughed up blood for the first time, while at dinner, that Fugaku decided that it wasn't just some bad cough. He took him to the hospital, and not even a full twenty-four hours later, Itachi was diagnosed.

Chemo had, obviously, been the first step for the Uchiha to take, his family right beside him as he suffered through the treatment. For a long time, Itachi was completely bald, which he was unashamed of—in fact, he even convinced Sasuke that it was a completely freeing experience, a fact the younger Uchiha refuted when he shaved his own head. Itachi put on a brave face, but they both knew that he was scared. So totally and completely scared. Nobody wants to know that they have something that's only purpose is to kill, especially at such a young age.

When Itachi was nineteen, they were told that the chemotherapy wasn't working. It had caused Sasuke to scream and shout at them, angry that they couldn't do anything to save his older brother. Itachi and his father had to physically remove the fourteen-year-old from the hospital, his lips set tight, and his body quivering with the force he had put in to stop himself from crying.

He was given only two years—estimated maximum—to live.

He held out for three and a half. Itachi was a fighter, but it was painful to watch him slowly succumb to the cancer, to watch him slowly crumble apart. Itachi had moved into the hospital for the last six months, and was visited every day by his family and his friends, who had all become his friends. A couple of times, all the Uchiha boys' friends—Sasuke's friends and Itachi's friends—fell asleep in his hospital suite, Sasuke curled up on his side beside his older brother, his hands clutching his tightly, as if that would stop him from dying.

Thankfully, it wasn't like that Itachi died, holding onto Sasuke's hand. But, unthankfully, Itachi had died in the company of Naruto, who was also dealing with the loss of his mother at the same time. Naruto had been in the hospital all day long, and he was checking in on Itachi. He had passed while speaking to him. What he said to Naruto, neither Fugaku nor Sasuke knew because he refused to talk about it with anyone, but whatever it was had the Uzumaki shaken. Not even Minato could get it out of his son, and Naruto did not know how to hide things from anyone…

"Dad."

Fugaku turned around, his eyes blank except for the briefest flash of recognition to see his seventeen-year-old son standing there, holding an umbrella over his head, free hand shoved into his pockets. Sasuke's original hair had returned years ago, though it was a near-blue black now instead of the simple black it was before. Though he wore a suit, his nails were painted dark purple, and Itachi's ring was on his finger. He fiddled with the piercing in his bottom lip with his tongue before he took a step closer, holding the umbrella over his head. "Dad, you're gonna give yourself a fever like that."

"Hn," responded Fugaku in standard Uchiha behavior, turning his attention away from his youngest son to the grave of his oldest. He couldn't look at Sasuke at that moment. Itachi had given him the piercing before he went into the hospital—the two of them had been drinking while Fugaku was out, and he came home to empty bottles of rum and two loopy, pierced and bleeding sons, one with a bleeding bottom lip and the other with two bleeding nipples. It wasn't the proudest moment Fugaku had of his sons together, but it was definitely one of the funniest, after he cleaned up all the blood off of his bathroom floor.

Sasuke took a step closer to his father, his onyx eyes betraying no emotion. "Uncle Minato invited us to go to dinner with him and Naruto later. I told him we'd be there. He's gonna pick us up at seven, and its three now. C'mon, Dad, we have to get you home, warmed up, and redressed. And probably give you some Airborne, just to make sure you won't catch anything from being a moron." Fugaku would've hit Sasuke outside the head if he really cared right now. "_C'mon_, Dad, let's _go_. Itachi'll be here when it stops raining."

His heart felt heavy. "Itachi's not here."

"Yeah, he is, Dad. Itachi will always be here. Now come _on_, Dad. It's cold and rainy, and I just want to be normal for a while. Let's go be normal for a while, Dad."

"I don't even know what normal is anymore."

Sasuke sighed. "Truthfully, I don't either. But we'll figure it out, Dad. We'll figure it out. Eventually, we'll figure it out."

* * *

**Lyrics of the chapter is from "Re:Member" by FLOW from the album 'Anime Best'. (It's also Naruto opening #8).**

**This story is being posted on Adult FanFiction. If discontinued here, I will continue it there! It'll be under the author Kay_Gryffin! It has the same name. **


	2. There's Points When Enough is Enough

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

"I've been feeling like everything is for nothing.  
In fact, I've never felt so goddamn _small_.  
Always searching for the bright side to find the strength for when I fall.  
I'm still believing that life has a meaning,  
Can't cope with thinking that there's not!  
I'm so divided that I try to hide it:  
It's the only real thing that I've got."

* * *

"Mr. Uchiha?"

Fugaku sighed into the phone, recognizing the voice over the phone too easily. "Detective Hatake. How are you?" he asked, putting down his pen and already getting his car keys, knowing the drill all too well. Kakashi was always the one who called him, not a normal officer. It was because Kakashi was close to the family that he did that, not because it was his jurisdiction.

"Could be better. You already know what I'm going to say, right?"

"Sadly, yes. My only question is, how many are there, and can I bail them all out?" Fugaku asked tiredly, pulling on a pair of random sneakers from the depths of his shoe closet. He didn't particularly care which ones they were—he and Sasuke were the same shoe size, and his son didn't really wear sneakers that often anymore, so he tended to wear them all anyways. He looked at his watch: one AM. He could let him sit in there, but he'd tried that already with him. Obviously, that hadn't worked.

"Two others who aren't facing major jail time. Their own parents already bailed them, and I think they're on their way, so don't worry about them. None of them are in serious trouble. He started a fight, but the other person's not putting any charges, so he's okay to leave. Just try to talk to him about it; at this rate, he's going to end up unemployed for life, with the amount of times we've brought him in listed in his files. I can't get through to him, at all. One of these days, he's really going to end up with a major charge," said Kakashi Hatake, sounding concerned. Kakashi was an old family friend, having been under Minato's tutelage at the police department.

"Yes, I know," sighed Fugaku as he locked the front door.

"He might listen if you picked up your badge again, Mr. Uchiha, if you don't mind me saying. He would fear you more if you reminded him that you were a lieutenant once," Kakashi tried.

"I'm fine without it. I enjoy what I do now."

"Private investigating is nice, don't get me wrong Mr. Uchiha, but it's nothing like the power of a badge."

Fugaku sighed. "I know. But I'm fine with that I do. I'm good at it. Anyways, just make sure he doesn't cause anymore trouble. I'm on my way."

"Will do. Ah… Mr. Uchiha?"

"Hmm?"

"Old friend I used to go to university with, Kurenai, she does therapy. Her husband's a detective here, I'm not sure if you remember him—Asuma? Well, they've offered up some therapy for him, if you're okay with it. I think it'd do him some good, some therapy."

"Kakashi, I respect you, but he's not crazy."

"I never said he was. He's in mourning is all. Sure, it's been a year and a half, but that doesn't make it any different. Him and Minato's son, they're both in mourning." Kakashi swallowed audibly over the phone. "I can give you the number for it when you get here. If I give it to him, he'll just find some other use for it—bookmark or roll for joint or something. But, seriously, Mr. Uchiha… think about it. I promised I'd look out for you guys, so, I… I've gotta make sure. I know things are tough, and I know that saying they'll get easier is complete and utter bullshit, but… I've gotta try."

Fugaku sighed as well. "I know you're only doing what you think is right, Kakashi, and I know you wouldn't offer unless you thought it would help him." Fugaku got into his pickup truck, slamming the door closed before he closed his eyes. "I… I'll think about it. You can give me the number when custody is transferred over to me. I'll be about forty-five, fifty minutes—I figure he could wait a while before I get some coffee."

Maybe he hadn't_ completely _given up on letting him stew for a while.

* * *

Seeing his father with his arms crossed over his chest, a look of disappointment in his tired eyes as he looked on him made Sasuke Uchiha feel like such a piece of utter shit. He looked over at Naruto, his [former] best friend, and he sighed and rubbed the back of his head. Naruto had gotten a job at the police station just after they'd graduated, and so he was no stranger to watching his friend leave the station.

"Okay, Sasuke, you're free to go," Naruto said as he undid the handcuffs, letting his best friend loose. Rubbing his wrists, he nodded at the Uzumaki, standing up and walking over to his father. He knew he looked like shit—eyeliner smeared around his bloodshot eyes, an odor of alcohol and weed hanging off his tight black nearly-see-through long sleeved shirt and black leather pants, his hair nearly limp, his cheek turning an interested shade of yellow from the bruise, his nail polish chipped and his fingernails bitten to the nub—and he tried not to care, but he did. He hated forcing his father to see this side of him. Hell, he just hated this side of him completely, but if he let it go… he'd feel pain. He didn't want to feel pain.

Kakashi stood next to his father, his mismatched eyes showing no emotion. It was a little weird to see a silver-haired man with a mask over his mouth and nose, admittedly, but Sasuke was more than used to the sight of his former mentor. Kakashi nodded politely at him, which he returned. Fugaku sighed and put a hand on Sasuke's chin, turning his face from side to side.

"Did you win?" he asked sarcastically. It was a rhetorical question. Fugaku did not want an answer, and Sasuke knew it. He also knew he was disappointed, and probably very close to just giving up on him. He didn't want that, but he also didn't want to feel the pain. He was scared of the possibility of it. Fugaku sighed and let go of his youngest. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head as he turned away, Sasuke wordlessly following his father.

He would apologize, but sorry just didn't suffice anymore. He'd done nothing to show he would change, so a promise would do nothing. What was there left to say without empty promises and apologies?

There was nothing. That was the reason why Sasuke hadn't had an actual conversation with his own father in about seven months.

He got into the seat next to his father, knowing there was no way in hell he would be driving. Not that he was exceptionally drunk and/or high to be unable to, but because his father would push him over to the shotgun seat anyways. He hadn't driven with his father in the seat next to him since he drove them to the hospital that last time. He would never say it, but he was afraid to drive the Toyota pickup truck. It was like death to him.

Fugaku leaned his forehead against the wheel and sighed. "Sasuke. You're going to be twenty in three months. You're not in college, you're unemployed, and you're fucking up your life before it even begins. Do you think that in some way, this will help you?"

Questions like these only required one-word answers. "No."

"You're a smart kid. You could be anything you want. Instead, you're choosing to be a fuck-up. Next time, you might just get charged and thrown into prison. You're so lucky that Minato and Naruto and Kakashi help you out. You're lucky that they know who you are down there, so they refuse to book you. But next time, you're going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you really are going to go to jail, and I can't help you." Fugaku closed his eyes. "Sasuke, I've exhausted my own energy and sanity trying to get you to talk to me, and you refuse. Instead, you go out, and you get drunk and high and get into fights. You're really running through the amount of trust and respect I have for you, and… your mother and brother would be disappointed in you Sasuke."

"I know."

"I know you know. You knowing isn't the problem. You acting on your knowledge is the problem. My choices are limited—your choices are limited. Long story short, Sasuke… you're going to therapy."

"Fine." He didn't want to, but who was he to argue? He looked at his father's tired, haggard face, feeling concern. His father wasn't exactly the best at handling his grief, either, but he just made it seem like it. At least he laughed on a regular basis. Sasuke couldn't even remember the last time he, himself, laughed. "Have you eaten?"

"Don't change the subject, Sasuke. You're going to therapy twice a week until this behavior changes. I will not see my son in prison. You wouldn't survive there. You're forty pounds underweight, you look sick, and you just don't have the mindset for it. They would take you and break you in a second. I still love you, even if you don't, and I don't want to see you going through something like that."

"Okay, Dad." He didn't know how to say 'I love you' back anymore. He knew he was broken, and he also thought that no amount of fixings in the world would ever put him back together. "When does it start?"

"I'm calling in the morning. Hopefully, sometime this week."

"Okay."

"Tomorrow, I'm going for drinks with a couple of friends. You're free to invite your own friends over, but I don't want you leaving the house for a damned thing. I'll call in at random to make sure you're still there." Friends? What friends did he have left? He hadn't talked to any of them in months. Sure, he had the occasional fuck buddy, but he didn't have anything else. He couldn't see his real friends. Sure, they called, they left messages; but he didn't—no, that wasn't the correct word; he_ couldn't_ respond. The only one of his 'friends' he saw on a regular basis was Naruto, and it was not by choice. Naruto worked at the police station, and he was there too often for him to avoid him. It wasn't like they talked or chatted. He had a huge fight the night of Itachi's funeral with Naruto, and neither of them had talked since, really.

They had all kind of dispersed after that—Chōji went to France to learn 'the art of food', as he called it. Hinata was studying architecture at a college up north. Shikamaru was south at law school. Sasori and Deidara ditched town five months ago for America. Hidan was currently without an address or cell phone; the freaky little nomad. Shisui was a detective, and almost always on duty. The only people from his old life he saw on a regular basis were Naruto, Minato, Kakashi, and his father.

"Okay."

"When we get back home, clean all that shit off your face and go to bed. I would tell you to eat something, but you'd just refuse anyways."

"Okay."

Fugaku sighed and put the key into the ignition. "No, it's not okay."

"I know." _But what else is there to say, Dad? What else is there to say? Especially when I'd been the one who told you to be strong? Especially since I was the one who wanted to get over 'Tachi? What the hell else is there left to say?  
_

* * *

Naruto opened the bathroom stall and slid in, leaning his forehead against the cold metal. Every damned time he saw Sasuke, he hoped it would be different. He hoped Sasuke—or himself—would say sorry and all would be forgiven. But, honestly… he couldn't forget. How does one just forget? How does one even begin to forget?

Naruto grabbed his throbbing skull and slid to a crouch, closing his blue eyes tight and rocking back and forth. He wanted to apologize. He wanted things to go back to how they once were. But he didn't know how that could even begin. He didn't know where to start. Tears dripped down his face, both from the pain and from the sadness wrenching at his heart. He'd lost so much last year. He lost his mother to a disease referenced to as the Fox's Bite—her internal organs just shut down; all of them, slowly, painfully, and right before his eyes. And not even twenty-four hours later, he lost Itachi, who he couldn't even begin to think about without feeling pain. And then, finally, he'd lost his first and best friend, Sasuke, to a stupid-as-fuck argument over what Itachi had said to him in his last moments. He kept denying that he said anything, but Sasuke knew—he somehow just knew.

But it was private. How could he just tell Sasuke something so private? It wasn't something Sasuke could just hear. It was just for him, all for him. He bit his lip as he began to sob, his fingers brushing against his whisker-shaped scarred cheeks. He had done it about four weeks after the funerals, when all he wanted to do was die. And he tried by cutting the crap out of his face—a weak attempt, he knew, but it did bleed a lot—in addition to his wrists. But it hadn't worked. All it left him with was those whisker-like scars, a constant reminder of his failure to even be able to commit suicide the right way.

He knew Itachi was probably disappointed in him for leaving things so wrecked, but he didn't know where to even begin to fix it. He was never very good at knowing these kinds of things. Just the thought of the raven-haired Uchiha made him hurt more, and he resisted the urge to crumple into a ball and cry harder. It would only make things worse. He couldn't do it—he had to avoid doing it.

He rolled up the sleeves of his blue uniform, revealing his scar-and-scab covered wrist. He immediately set to work, running his fingernails across his wrist, breaking the skin and drawing small amounts of blood. It wasn't the drops he spilled he was going for—it was the pain. The only way for him to deal with the heartache was to cause himself pain. Physical pain was the only escape from the mental pain.

_Itachi, why…_ he thought as he continued to scrape at his skin, tears running off his face and into the wounds he was causing himself. _Why did you have to leave me? Was I bad to you? Was I not good enough for you, Itachi? Why? _Naruto ripped off toilet paper off of the roll, pressing against his bloodied wound as his normal thought came back to him.

Two months of progress, right down the bloody toilet.

He wished he could tell Sasuke to pull himself together, but he lacked the right to do so. None of them were together—none. Losing Itachi had hit them all hard. Itachi was like an older brother to all of them—well, a bit more for him, to be completely honest.

Itachi's necklace was warm around his neck, and he touched it gently through his shirt. No one knew he had it. Everyone had though it just got lost in the bowels of Itachi's room. He knew as well as he knew that the sky was blue that Sasuke would hate him if he knew that he had his brother's necklace. If he knew, he'd have to explain why he had it, and how he'd come to have it. He didn't want to tell anyone why Itachi had given him something he'd been given the day he was born, why Itachi had chosen him to give it to. If he did, he was worried there would be issues. Actually, no. He _knew_ there would be issues, and he didn't want to hear them.

A phone ringing stole him from his thoughts, and took a minute to figure out it was his phone. Slowly, he reached into his pockets, wiping his eyes in order to look at the small LCD screen of the ancient Blackberry he had. Frowning deeper at the realization of the caller, he accepted the call, holding it to his ear. "S-Shika?"

Shikamaru's lazy voice was uncharacteristically high and it sounded scared. "Naru. Hey. Listen… do you think I could crash at yours for a while?"

His brow furrowed. "C-Crash at mine? Why? A-Aren't you at school?"

"Um… was. I'll tell you about it later. Can you just… can you just pick me up from the train station? I'm coming home. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Please?"

"Shika, w-what about your dad? And how did you find a train at this hour? I-It's nearly two AM."

"D-Don't worry about that, man. Just pick me up. I'll explain it you later, and I'll tell my dad eventually. Just… just not tonight. I cannot tell him tonight. Please, Naruto please let me stay at your flat, until I can figure out what to do." Naruto bit his lip, but he stood up, rolling down his sleeve to hide his scabbing wrist, opening the door to the stall. "Naruto?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Sure. I'm coming to get you right now. I just need to sign out for the night at work, and I'll be there. I promise."

"Thank you, Naru. Thank you."

"No problem, Shika. Just… this is highly suspicious. Are you okay?"

Shikamaru sighed. "No. I'm not okay. I've fucked up Naruto. But… but I don't wanna talk about it over the phone. I wanna talk about it at your flat, with you and you alone, not to you and all these troublesome nosy fucks on this train with me. Just get here soon, okay, Naru? I need you." He sounded so desperate that Naruto already feared the worse. "Please hurry."

"Okay, Shika. Okay. I'll hurry."

"Thank you, Naru. Thank you."

* * *

Shikamaru brought the cigarette shakily to his lips, the cold winter airs seemingly compressing him, making him want to curl up and die right there on the bench. It was a wondrous option, but he knew that it would worry Naruto, considering he was the only person who knew he was here, so he didn't curl up or die—he simply kept slowly killing himself with the cigarette as a nice substitute. He wondered where exactly he went wrong with his life, but he knew that it would only hurt to wonder. Besides, he knew exactly where his life went to shit. But it wasn't something he could just fix. He didn't know how to.

"Shika."

He flinched, looking up at the blond-haired scarred male standing above him, his blue eyes betraying no emotion. He tossed his cigarette to the side, grabbing his duffle bag and wrapping his arms around his friend, happier than anything to see him. He did his best to hide his nervous twitch, but he knew it wasn't working. It was too aggressive. He just hoped that Naruto was as unobservant as he was when they were younger. "Naru. Naru. You came."

"You're smoking. You said you'd quit. You told Itachi you quit," Naruto muttered.

"I know what I told him, Naruto. Let's not argue, okay? I don't want to argue with anyone." Naruto pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes before he looked at him up and down. Shikamaru was in the process of gauging his ears, it seemed, and it looked like he'd pierced his nose. The ponytail he remembered wasn't there—instead, his hair was down to his shoulders, and a beanie was shoved onto his head, doing nothing to keep him warm.

"You look different. You look…" Homeless. Sick. Tired. Beaten-down.

"Yeah, Naru, I know exactly how I look. Let's go. Please?" Naruto blinked and nodded, pulling away completely and grabbing Shikamaru's other duffle bag as the Nara picked up his backpack, the two of them quickly making it out to Naruto's beat-up old Camry, throwing his stuff in the back seat before they both clamored into the front. "God. It did not get any warmer up here, did it?"

"It's wintertime, Shika. You're the one who left for the south for school. Speaking of, shouldn't you be there?" Shikamaru turned on Naruto's heater, blasting it fully in an attempt to ignore his blond friend. "Shika. School. Law. Aren't you supposed to be doing these things right now?" Shikamaru leaned in further, trying to warm up his cheeks and stop his dripping nose. Naruto got impatient. "_Shikamaru, AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN FUCKING LAWSCHOOL__RIGHT NOW?!_" he screamed, his face turning red.

"_I haven't been in school for __**four months**_, Naruto!" he finally snapped, turning to Naruto. "Okay? I dropped out of school four months ago. Now can we please go to your fucking flat? It's fucking freezing out here, and I just want to sleep on a bed I recognize for a night before I tell my parents. I want to be in the company of friends, and Sasuke doesn't have a phone anymore, and Chōji's all the way in fucking wherever studying food and shit, and Hinata refuses my calls now—"

"Why is she refusing your calls? What's wrong?"

"Just…" Shikamaru leaned back in the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Naruto. Please stop asking me these fucking questions. Please. I'll tell you, just please. Just fucking drive to your flat. I'm tired and I'm depressed and I really just need a bloody friend right now, which I have an extremely limited amount of. So, please, Naruto, can we please just go to your flat, at which point I'll answer every question you have. Please." Shikamaru twitched—which, Naruto noted, was the fifth or so time he did in the past two minutes.

"Are you on drugs, Shika?" he asked softly.

"Naruto! Please! I'll tell you everything! Please, can we go to your fucking flat?!" he begged. Naruto blinked, but nodded. Whatever was wrong with Shikamaru, it was bad. He could tell. He put the car into gear, pulling out of the parking lot faster than he knew he should, but with the way Shikamaru was acting, he knew that quicker was better than adhering to the law. Shikamaru settled down into the seat next to him, pulling his legs into his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Naruto hadn't completely noticed how skinny Shikamaru had gotten until he'd done that, and now he did, he also noticed how dirty his skin was. Shikamaru looked like he'd been homeless for the better part of fifteen years, and paired with his twitchiness and mood changes… Naruto already had his answers.

Shikamaru was on hard drugs, and he was the very definition of lost.

* * *

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," she begged under her breath, biting her fingernails as she stood in the only phone booth for miles, her pale lavender eyes looking from side to side. She had already lost seventy-five cents of the three dollars she had in her pocket just calling random numbers she knew, and she needed the other two dollars for something. She didn't know exactly what she could possibly pay for with two dollars, but she knew she had her limitations.

"Hello?"

"Big brother?" she asked, nearly crying with relief.

"H-Hinata? Is that you? This isn't your cell."

"N-No. It's not. I don't have my cell anymore."

"Where is it?"

_Probably with the rest of my stuff, back on the highway by my school, where I ditched it with my car. _"I-It's a long story, big brother, but I-I need a ride first. C-Can you pick me up?"

"Pick you up? Where are you? Why aren't you at school?"

"L-Long story, big brother. I-I'm just outside of the city, but I can't get a ride and I've only got two dollars with me and I'm scared…" Scared was the understatement of the century, but knowing Neji, he was already worrying enough. Petrified would have him calling the cops, and she was afraid of getting the police involved with the situation.

"Calm down, calm down. Tell me where you are? Are you at the rest stop on the interstate, Hinata?"

"N-No. Do you remember the Seven-Eleven by that park that Daddy used to take us to as kids?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"Yeah. I know. There was a Duane Reade across the street, right? Big street? The Seven-Eleven's on the corner of the intersection, right?"

"R-Right," she said, her fear dripping into her voice and causing her stutter. It was usually a good area in the daylight, but right now it wasn't, and it was scaring her more than she was already. Creepy men watched her from the gas station next to the Seven Eleven, their beady eyes undressing her with their eyes. Hot flashes of another person doing what these men wanted only increased her fear. _Not again not again not again not again NOT FUCKING AGAIN—_

"Okay, okay, calm down, little sister. Shh. Shh. It's okay. I'm on my way. I'm getting my keys right now. Do you want to stay on the phone with me? Can you stay on the phone with me?"

"I-If I keep paying. I'm at a-a phone b-booth, big b-brother, and there's people staring at me f-from across the s-street and I—"

"Shh, shh, calm down, little girl. I'll be there. Go to the Seven-Eleven. Buy yourself something to eat. I don't care what. Just buy something to justify why you're staying in the store until I get there. If I drive fast, I'll probably be there in thirty minutes, traffic permitting. Do you think you'll be okay for thirty minutes, little sister?"

"I-I think s-so. T-Thank you, N-Neji, thank y-you…"

"It's no problem, my precious little sister. I'm in the car now. I'm gonna hang up now. Go into the Seven-Eleven. I'll be there soon. I love you. Be safe."

"I-I will. I-I love you, t-too, b-big b-brother."

"Okay. Go now."

Hinata hang up the phone and picked up her backpack from the floor by her feet, jumping out of the booth and running across the street, trying to ignore the predators staring at her as she went into the Seven-Eleven, her breathing heavy as she ran to the back, picking up a bag of chips for purchase. Thankfully, they were one-seventy-five—usually what she would consider to be an obscene price, but she didn't argue—and went by the door, eating quickly and nervously to settle her stomach, which hadn't stopped turning since the beginning of this entire horrible night. She was afraid, but not of the perverts outside, but of something coming for her… looking for her…

By some grace of God, Neji made it there in twenty-five minutes in his silver Volvo. She picked up her bag again, running outside and crashing into her adoptive brother as soon as he stepped out of the car. Surprised, it took a moment for Neji's mind to catch up and return the frantic hug, gripping at Hinata's jacket and kissing her temple, incredibly worried. She looked more frantic and afraid than she had seemed on the telephone—and bruised. There were bruises up and down her neck, as well as on the edge of her lips. And was it—split? Who was hitting her? He was confused as to what happened, but when she began to cry into Neji's shirt, he immediately let it go, tightening his grip on the scared girl's clothing. "I've got you, Hinata. I've got you. Shh, Hinata, don't cry. Don't cry. I've got you, Nata."

"Neji, I'm scared," she whispered, burying her face against the fabric of Neji's leather jacket, which was nowhere near enough for the cold weather, but at this juncture, he didn't care. He'd never seen Hinata so scared before. She usually handled everything so well; it took a lot to scare her. Whatever happened, it must've really terrified. And whoever hit her… "I wanna go home, Neji, I wanna go home."

"Shh, I know. C'mon, let's go home. Uncle Hiashi will be happy to see you after so long. Let's go home, Hinata." She nodded against his jacket, but she refused to let go. Sighing, he picked her up, carrying her around the car and placing her gently into the shotgun seat, forcing her to let go as he buckled her in. As soon as he was in his own seat, she grabbed his hand, holding it tightly over the console. Considering she was so scared, he allowed it, whispering soothing words. What else was there to be said? "Shh, Hinata. It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

* * *

_**Lyrics from "Violence [Enough is Enough]" by A Day to Remember (2012, from the yet-to-be-released album 'Common Courtesy'.  
**_


	3. This World Tears Us Down

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

"You can call this a warning.  
It's a warning that we're drowning in our malcontent.  
Tear me down like a cancer, whats your answer?  
We're different and it makes you sick.  
There is a sadness here, on every corner,  
It's in our hearts; dear _GOD_!  
Don't wanna trouble you much,  
But we all need to know when _enough is enough_!"

* * *

Iruka Umino was not Naruto Uzumaki's natural brother, nor was he Minato Namikaze's natural son. He wasn't even remotely related to the family. He had been adopted by them when Naruto was just a baby after Kushina decided that she wanted to adopt rather than have another biological child. Iruka was mischievous and cunning, but he was also intelligent and kind and gentle. Kushina had fallen in love with the then-twelve-year-old Iruka off the bat, and begged Minato to let them adopt him. Newly orphaned after his parents' car accident, Iruka would've ended up in the system for life if Kushina hadn't spotted him at the station, giving his statement about the accident. It had taken a while for him to adjust—at first, he hated the family because they weren't his family—but, after a few months, he came to love the three people who brought him into their life and saved him from foster care.

He especially came to love Naruto, who could make anyone love him. He became fiercely protective over the little blond, fretting over him and making sure he grew up healthy. Naruto idolized Iruka, even wanting to get a scar on his nose like Iruka did. Of course, thankfully, Naruto didn't do such a thing, but he adopted Iruka's love for ramen, as well as his quick temper and gentle care for all things small. Iruka promised Kushina on her death bed that he would always keep her son safe, but he didn't expect Naruto to go through half as much as he did. Three years before he lost his mother, he lost his adoptive grandfather. Days after his mother's death, he lost Itachi. And then only a couple of weeks after that, he lost his best friend in a petty fight. Naruto never returned to the person he was, though at first he did pretend to try. No, that Naruto was gone. What was left was an empty shell that Iruka just couldn't get through to.

He felt like he failed Kushina.

And now, watching Naruto bring Shikamaru into their building, he felt like he'd failed Kushina even more. He rushed from the window, opening the door and watching with wide brown eyes as Naruto rounded the corner, a sickly-looking Shikamaru trailing behind him. "Naruto, what—" he began before Naruto cut him off.

"He called and asked for help. Can he stay the night? He'll sleep on the couch. Dad doesn't have to know," Naruto said, pulling Shikamaru into the flat, taking his bags and dropping them to the side before leading him over to the couch. "It'll only be one night. He's going to his father in the morning." Shikamaru groaned. "Right, Shika? You said you would go to him."

"Naruto, you can't just hide him like you used to. Shikamaru's… grown. And he looked like a homeless drunkard, no offense. Dad will see him, and Dad will freak out at the sight of him. He might even take him into the station—or the hospital. Why didn't you guys to go the hospital?"

Shikamaru shook his head. "Nah. I don't need a hospital. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're on drugs," Naruto sighed, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch and pulling off Shikamaru's hat. He began to shake his head, but even Iruka could tell that he would be lying if he did. "Don't shake your head. Don't deny it. Anything with eyes can see that you're hopped up on something—or were, judging by your twitchiness. What was it, Shika? Coke? Crack? Meth? What the hell were you on?"

Shikamaru swallowed. "Heroin."

Naruto sighed again. "Why? You always swore that pot was the worst you'd ever do. Why heroin, Shika? Why do something like that to yourself? Were you planning on killing yourself?"

Shikamaru closed his eyes. "I needed… I needed to feel alive, Nar. The pot… the cigarettes… they weren't doing shit. I needed it. I needed to feel like life was worth it, and heroin did that for me. It felt amazing when I was on it. It's a rush like nothing else, Naru, nothing else. They're even better than adrenaline needles and sex."

"I don't want to know how you came across adrenaline needles, but were you using protection at the very least?" asked Iruka, crouching down and unlacing Shikamaru's old, worn combat boots.

"Y-Yeah. Always. I never had any sex without wearing something. And I used sterile needles. I'm clean, man, I'm clean. No money, no job, and no degree except for a high school degree, but I'm clean. No diseases, I swear it." He chuckled to himself before coughing. "I'm a smart druggie, Ruka."

"Did you drop out, or did you get kicked out, oh smart druggie?" asked Iruka sarcastically, souring Shikamaru's mood.

"I dropped it. I-I dunno what happened. I… I just woke up and decided I didn't want any of it anymore. I moved in with this chick named Tayuya and a bunch of her friends. They were all doing heroin, too, but they always made sure to sterilize. We fucked a lot—not just me and Tayuya. We all fucked. They were all clean, and so was I, so I guess a condom wasn't necessary with anyone except for Tayu." Shikamaru swallowed and raised a hand to his forehead. "We were evicted a bunch of times, but because Tayuya was a dealer of Meth—we didn't touch that shit; we didn't want to go that far—we managed to find new places.

"But, then… then Tayu went to rehab. She got clean. She stopped dealing. We lost our places. I got arrested down there, for disorderly mainly, because I was fucking awesome had hiding my drugs. I used the rest of my school money for the fines I got. They decided they had enough of me and kicked me out of the country. They took most of my stuff, except for the shit in my bags, and I decided I needed to get clean, too. So I came home. But I was afraid to tell my dad—I've been telling him in my emails and texts that I've been doing well in my classes, and I missed him. The last part was true, and so was the first for a while, but I don't want him to know what I've done. I don't want him to know what I've become. I'm scared, Naru, Ruka; I'm so fucking scared of disappointing him. I don't want him to know that I've become an addict."

Naruto nodded, watching his friend closely. "Did it start with heroin? Was it just heroin?"

"N-No. It wasn't just heroin," he admitted, tears dripping down his face. "I… it started with my medication. It's in my bag. It's legit—or was, I guess. I was supposed to be off the prescription a couple of months ago, but I stole a script pad from my therapist and kept writing my own while I was down there—you know how I was good at forging signatures, Naru. Um… I got it for anxiety attacks and my moderate depression. And then afterwards, after it stopped working for me, I moved onto Valium. After that stopped, I tried coke, but I didn't like it much. I met Tayuya that first time, and she introduced me to it." Shikamaru took a shuddering breath and pressed his face into the cushion. "I'm sorry to lay this on you. I just… I had nowhere else to go. I'm just so fucking scared, Naru…"

Naruto sighed and ran a hand through Shikamaru's long hair. "It's okay, Shika. Keep talking to me. Tell me and Ruka everything. Does Hinata know?"

"S-She found out. She came down to visit me at school and found out I dropped. She found out from my former roommate, who was keeping my drugs a secret from the school. She stumbled across me in the street—completely by accident—and told me to get clean, and to get back to school. By that time, I'd already paid about a third of the school fund meant for the next three years in fines, and I was more hooked on it than ever. I refused. I called her such horrible things because I was afraid of pain coming back. I told her she didn't know me, and she needed to fuck off. I was such an ass to her that she told me that I could die and she wouldn't give a shit. She has my number blocked, so when I tried calling her, it went straight to her voicemail."

Iruka spoke up. "Does Chōji know?"

He coughed a bitter laugh through his tears. "No. Of course not. I can't tell Chō something like this. He'd drop school and come to help me out—or, worse, he'd bring me to France with him or some shit like that. Chōji came out halfway decent; he doesn't need some fuck up like me dragging him down. He doesn't need to care for me. He needs to focus on his career, the career he's been dreaming about since we were little brats. It's not fair of me to ask him to put that aside because _I _fucked up."

"You'd do the same for him," Naruto said.

Shikamaru nodded in agreement. "I would. That's why I can't force him to do it for me. I can't force him to drop everything for my sakes. It's unfair of me to ask him to do something like that for shit I brought on myself. I chose to get addicted—not him. It wasn't forced on me. I thought I knew what I was doing. So I can't force my addiction on him. Its bad enough I've forced it onto you, Naru, and for that, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to cause you any trouble, Naru, and I'm so sorry I've put this on you. But I had no place else to go."

Naruto sighed and ran his fingers through Shikamaru's greasy hair. "You're such a fucking mess, Shikamaru," he whispered, "A fucking mess."

"I know. I'm sorry, Naru, I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing. I'm not the one who can forgive you for this." He sighed again. "Tell me why. Why did you need something like that to feel alive? Is it because of Itachi passed? Is that why you needed it?"

Shikamaru sniffled. "No. It was because of what happened _after_ Itachi." He bit his lip. "What happened between me and Hidan made me need to feel alive." He turned his face from the cushion and threw his arms around Naruto's neck. "Don't tell him. You can tell whoever you want… just don't tell Hidan. I don't want him coming back here. I don't want to see him, Naruto, I can't see him. Please don't make me see him."

Naruto's brow furrowed in confusion, but he decided to just agree—it would make everything easier. "Okay, Shikamaru. I won't call Hidan. I promise not to call Hidan. I swear."

"Thank you, Naruto."

"Hn. It's fine. Go to sleep, Shikamaru; we'll talk more in the morning."

"O-Okay. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Really. Don't mention it." Naruto sighed, pulling out of Shikamaru's arms and pulling the blanket thrown over the back of the couch on top of Shikamaru's skinny, quivering body. Iruka looked at his younger brother, feeling concern for the youth. His blue eyes made contact with Iruka's chocolate browns. "How long ago was I meant to be home?"

"You were working overtime at the station, so I thought you'd be back forty-five minutes ago. Dad was worried about you, but then again, we're both always worried about you. I forced him to go to sleep. He hasn't been sleeping well lately, and since you were gone for so long, I told him I'd wait up for you." Iruka yawned. "I shouldn't have, though. It's irresponsible to stay awake so long with my dangerous profession."

Naruto's eyebrow twitched. "You're a middle school history teacher."

"Middle school is renowned for its danger. I admit, nothing like being a police officer—or a deputy police officer—but it's something dangerous." He yawned again, rubbing his hip. "I'm going to bed, Naruto. If you wake me up early enough, we can go get breakfast. We can even drop off our resident druggie at his own house."

"No. I don't want to do that. Not that it wouldn't be the easiest thing, but Shikamaru really is scared. Fucking moron or not, he's still one of my best friends. I can't just drop him off without a care."

Iruka's eyes softened. "Naruto, he needs to go to rehab. I admit, his case doesn't seem as bad as most drug addicts seem to have, but he still needs rehab, if not for the detox, but for the therapy. You guys are all emotionally damaged."

Naruto's eyebrow twitched. "'All'?"

"Yeah. Naruto, I…" Iruka sighed. "Naruto, I know you try to deal with your issues by yourself, but honestly, you haven't made an ounce of progress in eight months. Dad gave you a job at the police station to keep you from attempting to kill yourself again, but you're still the same, or at least it seemed that way. And I've seen your wrist, little brother, and while it looks old and like you stopped, I'm worried that it's even there. So… I got you appointments with a therapist." Naruto clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. "I know you don't like it, but Naruto… you and Sasuke took Itachi's death the hardest. I don't know why you did, but you did, and you've never talked about why, and you won't let it go. It'll do you good to talk about it, Naruto. You'll finally get it off your chest."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Naruto, and the problem is that you won't admit it. And you're acting as if I'm threatening you—I'm not. I'm just worried about you, Naruto. You haven't been yourself since Mom died. I miss my little brother. I miss seeing you grin and shout and scream at dad to make some dinner and always eating instant ramen and waking up late on weekends. I want _my _Uzumaki Naruto back, and if I have to send it to therapy to get him back, then I guess I'll just have to do it." Iruka rubbed his scar. "Dad agreed with me. In fact, he helped me find therapist for you. Your coworker, Asuma; his wife is a licensed therapist. I called her, she seemed good enough, and so I got you an appointment with her."

"Dad knows?"

"Of course Dad knows. He's still your legal guardian." He put a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Naru, we just want you back."

Naruto sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Not a one."

* * *

The cigarette smoke over his head was actually hurting his eyes.

He winced in irritation, sitting up; although sitting was the exact last thing he wanted to do, with the pain shooting up his spine. He rolled his shoulders before moving his hands to massage his lower back, though he knew no amount of massaging would do anything for him any good, all that pain was inside of him. He looked at the mirror across from him, his brow furrowing as he took in his reflection. His long silver locks hung limp around his face, his purple eyes surrounded by red.

A hand touched his back, making him flinch in surprise. The pierced man on the bed raised his cigarette to his lips, his ringed eyes making contact with Hidan's. "You okay, babe?"

"I'm not your babe, cunt," growled Hidan, "I just wanted to score."

"You always wanna score, Hidan, and you never have money for it. You're always here, always in my bed, and then I give you some coke or whatever it is that you want tonight, and then you're back by tea. Forgive me if I've adopted a few names to call you by," he replied, sitting up and kissing Hidan's shoulder. Hidan scowled, but allowed him to keep going. "C'mon, babe. You have to earn what you want."

"This is the fucking last time," he mumbled, turning around and kissing him against his will, allowing Hidan to push him onto his back. "This is the fucking last time, Pein. I will never do this again. I'm going clean."

"Good for you. But for now…" He unzipped his pants, "Get to work, Hidan." Hidan sighed; lowering his hand to Pein's hardened length. Pein made a tut-tut sound, drawing Hidan's attention. "No, no, Hidan. No hands. No lips. You know what I want on my dick."

"You forgot to lube it up before you stuck your cock in me, asshole. I'm still fucking sore."

"Do you want your drugs or not, Hidan?" Hidan swallowed dryly, his purple eyes going wide. "That's what I thought. Now"—Pein grabbed Hidan by his ass cheek, roughly groping it, making Hidan wince and quiver under his grip—"Get on my fucking lap and fuck yourself. And you have to mean it, or I give you absolutely nothing, Mr. Last-Time. Hop to it."

Hidan bit his tongue against the stream of curse words threatening to make their way out, instead sucking up a pride he didn't realize he still had as he got onto Pein's lap, gently gripping Pein's erection as he turned around and, closing his eyes, shoved himself downwards, impaling himself on him. His eyes snapped open, and he bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

"Fucking _fuck_! Shit, that fucking hurts! Son of a cock-sucking cunt, get it the fuck out of me!" he gasped out, his entire body trembling with the pain he was causing himself.

When had he fallen so far?

Why had he let himself fall this far? Having sex for drugs?

What was _wrong _with him?

Pein grabbed him by the hips, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in. Hidan cried out unintelligibly, and grabbed at the blankets between Pein's legs. He knew that Pein was going to do what he wanted. His pleasure had nothing to do with this—and there was no pleasure he was deriving from this. It was meant to show that he belonged to Pein, for as long as he was on drugs. Pein didn't particularly care if he got off of drugs, but to him, it was important. It was so important.

He needed to go home. That one thought was what kept him from screaming out in pain every time Pein thrust into him dry. He needed to go home. He needed to stop running away. He needed to get the hell over himself. He needed to get off of drugs. He needed to accept that Itachi was gone. He needed… he needed to get Shikamaru back. He needed him. He was younger, yes, but he needed him. He'd hurt him, yes, but he needed to get him. He hadn't meant what he'd said to him, what he'd done. He was angry and he was mad and… and he just needed him.

It took him months, but he knew he loved Shikamaru Nara.

Pein's groan forced him from his thoughts, the feeling a warm substance filling him had him wincing in disgust and discomfort. Pein pushed him off of him; making him land chest-first on the bed he was sure was ridden with so many diseases. "N-No… condom…"

"You're no girl, Hidan, so just shut the fuck up. You'll be fine."

"Diseases…"

"Did you just accuse me of having an STD? Do you want your drugs?"

"Y-Yes… I need it," he said, turning onto his back feeling the liquids dripping out of him onto the blankets. "I-I fucking need them… Pein… I didn't mean… a fucking goddamned thing… I was just…"

"Shut the fuck up. I was fucking with you, Hidan. Get up, get dressed. Get a shower if you want. What did you want today? Three bags of coke, what else?"

"…Nothing fucking else…"

"Fine. I'll get your bags ready for you. You blowing one of them here again? I bet Konan would love to join you again. You two had such fun after you guys snuffed," Pein said, getting off the bed and picking up his robe from the ground, pulling it onto his shoulders.

"No. It… it's my last-blow-ever cocaine. I'm… fucking doing it on the train home…" he mumbled, rolling off the bed, feeling Pein's cum drip down the inside of his thigh. _Shit, _he thought, pressing two of his fingers into the sticky white liquid. Disgusting. It was absolutely disgusting to him, to know this was inside him.

"Leaving tonight, Hidan?"

"Yeah. My shit is… it's in my fucking car… downstairs… I've already got someone who'll buy the fucking thing off of me."

"So you really were serious? This really is the last time we'll see you?"

"Fuck, yeah. I'm going clean."

"Well, shit, man, I had no idea. Hell, we'll miss you, man. I would tell you to visit, but…" Pein shrugged and smiled, going into his kitchen. "Konan, get me four baggies of c!"

"I fucking asked for three."

"I know what you asked for." Pein walked to his bedside table, pulling out a small metal tray and a razor blade. "We're doing a blow right here. One for bloody motherfuckin' the road."

"I—"

"No, I don't wanna fucking hear it, Hidan. You've been a loyal customer of Akatsuki for the past nine and half months. We're used to you. You're practically family. This is a goodbye from us, to you." Konan sauntered into the bedroom, four small baggies in her hand. She smiled at Hidan, but said nothing. Pein grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down onto her knees. "Set us up, baby. Hidan's leaving, so we're giving him a goodbye gift."

"Can I join?" she purred.

"Of course. I can't deny my best friend blow when she wants it." He kissed her cheek. "C'mon. Set it up." Hidan sighed, watching with quivering lips as Konan set up the white powder he loved so much, his mouth quirking with anticipation.

He was sick.

He knew he was sick.

There was something really wrong with him.

"I know you like glazing it, Hidan, but me and Konan like doing it like it was meant to be done. Do you mind doing it like us for your last time?"

"No. I don't give a shit," said Hidan as Konan finished, pulling a small straw out of her shorts pocket and lowering her face down to the tray, pressing one finger against her open nostril as she inhaled, taking in the powder. She reared her head back, her eyes glazing over before she moaned out in pleasure. Pein handed him the straw as Konan came behind him, running her hands up and down Hidan's large, bare chest. He gave a smirk and lowered his face, cursing himself up and down as he, too, inhaled.

_I'm so fucking sorry, Shika. I'll get fucking clean for you, I promise. I'll get clean for you, goddammit._

* * *

The first thing Hinata did when she came into her house was to lock herself up in the bathroom and turn the temperature of the water all the way to hot. She stood under the hot beads of water raining down on her from the showerhead, shivering despite the hot humidity of the bathroom, her entire body trembling. Grabbing a bar of vanilla-scented soap and a washcloth, she scrubbed at her body until her pale cream-colored skin was bright red with agitation and heat. She found no satisfaction with this—she could still see it.

She could still see them.

His hands.

His hands pressing into her hips.

He'd left marks.

_Not enough not enough not enough_, she thought frantically, scrubbing at her hips, trying to get rid of the long, large blue-purple bruises showing in her skin. Logistically speaking, she knew that scrubbing them wouldn't force them away. She knew what a bruise was. But she was frantic. She wanted them to go away. She wanted to feel him completely gone. She didn't want to feel the ache on her.

She whimpered as she spotted the long bruises on her wrists, as well as the ones on the front and back of her thighs, as well as the fingerprints on her breasts. She could feel him everywhere—those places and more.

A lot more places.

With shaking fingers, she lowered her hands beyond her hips, in between her legs, where the pain was the worst. Her womanhood felt the worse out of all the places. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his hot breath against it. She whimpered again as her finger pressed itself against her lower lips, searching for something—

Oh God. What was this? She brought her fingers back out, her eyes widening as she caught a look of pale pink, more vivid red than anything, and some white spots. What was—

No.

_Oh, my God, no. No, no, no, no. I thought he was… __I thought he… NO. NO. No. No. NO. NO. NO __**NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOO! **_

She didn't even realize that she fell to a sitting position until someone knocked at the door of the bathroom. She looked down in between her legs with a dazed expression in her eyes, noticing that the shower water was tinged red. Was it from her vagina or was it from her ass? Both were aching terribly. It wasn't like he didn't explore all holes—thoroughly.

She could still taste him in the back of her throat.

He tasted fucking disgusting.

"Hinata? Hinata, are you still there?" It sounded like Neji, but sometimes over the phone she would be talking and she'd really be talking to her father. Was it the same case here? "Hinata, you screamed. Are you okay? Did you lock the door? Why did you lock it?"

Too many questions, so little thought processing.

"It's red," she whimpered aloud. How loud, she didn't know.

"Hinata. Hinata. What's red? Talk to me, please."

"Everything's red. And white. And sticky." So sticky. What did this guy eat? And… oh God, it was still inside of her. She could feel it in her. On her. Inside. It was on the inside of her, where she didn't want it to be. She could feel it all in her, and she didn't know what to do. Why did this have to happen to her? Why did she have to go through this? What had she done so wrong to deserve this?

"Red…? Sticky? Hinata, open up, please!"

"Don't…" she whispered, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. Her bruised legs. Hiding. Hiding her damage. She wasn't pure anymore, and she needed to hide that. She needed to stop the disappointment. It was her fault. Somehow this was her fault. She had done something. It was… it was punishment for giving up on Shikamaru. For giving up on Sasuke. On Naruto. Her friends. She wasn't a good person. She gave up on them, and so she was punished for it. She was given the ultimate punishment. She was a horrible person. "Don't look at me. I'm sick. I'm horrible."

Neji didn't listen and, instead, kicked open the door—he'd always had a nasty kick—and ran over to the blurry glass doors. Hinata whimpered again as he opened the shower door. His pale eyes widened as he crashed to his knees in the shower, looking at her. Observing her. Was he judging? She couldn't tell. But he wasn't dangerous. She knew he wasn't dangerous. Tears dripped down her face in relief at that. He wasn't going to attack her. She didn't know if she could handle it if he did. Gears turned in Neji's mind, visible through his pale eyes, and he placed his large hands on Hinata's shoulder as gently as possible.

"Red and sticky, you said?" he said after a long moment of silence. She nodded, and he swallowed dryly. "Hinata, please get out of the shower and go to your room. I'm going to wake up Uncle Hiashi and Hanabi, and then we're going to the hospital. Okay, Hinata?"

"I didn't want to. I didn't know what to do. I thought—"

"Shh, Hinata, it's alright. You're not in trouble. You did the smart thing. You came home. Now let me do my job and make sure you're safe. Does it hurt?"

"Y-Yes."

"How much? A little or a lot?"

"A-A lot, big brother…"

He sucked in a breath. "Okay. Go to your room; wait for Hanabi to come in with clean clothes. Then we're going to the hospital. Okay, little sister?"

"O-Okay, Neji…"

"Go now, Hinata," he said urgently, noticing the red tint to the water. Hinata jumped to her feet, not caring if Neji saw her—he did just burst in on her, and she definitely had a hell of a lot more on her mind than caring if her older cousin saw her naked, he knew that for damned sure. He looked down at his hands, noticing that they were shaking. Trembling.

This was far beyond what he'd thought could've happened to Hinata. She was so kind, so polite… why would someone ever want to hurt her this way? What kind of sick _fuck _wanted to hurt a girl like her? He leaned his forehead against the edge of the sliding glass door, trying to take even breaths. Panicking was the last thing he needed to do. Hinata needed him to be calm and in control of himself. She was scared and hurt and… oh, God, his precious little sister was hurt. Sure, they were cousins, but she was always like his sister… his baby sister. Fury tried to ruse up his throat, but he put a cap on it.

No.

He couldn't lose it. She needed calm Neji. Not vengeful Neji. Not murderous Neji.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

_One. _

_Two. _

_Three. _He knew that they weren't doing shit. He could still feel the anger and the fear and the worry and the pain. But they were helping him ignore it—which he needed to do. He could be mad and angry and worried later. Right now, he had things to do, all involved giving comfort and steadiness to her. It was the best thing for the moment.

Where was that Hyūga calm when he needed it?

He sighed as he got to his feet, reaching in and turning off the still-running shower water, ignoring his drenched sleeves and pant legs as he left the bathroom, walking numbly down the hall to his uncle's bedroom. He knocked—loudly—before walking in. He knew his uncle. He knew he wasn't asleep. He had been awake the moment that he'd texted him that Hinata had called him so frantically.

Hiashi was sitting on his bed, just like Neji had assumed he would be, and his head snapped up and found Neji standing there. "Well? How is she?"

"We need to take her to the hospital, Uncle," said Neji in a dead-sounding voice, "And call the police. She was raped."

* * *

**_Lyrics from "Violence [Enough is Enough]" by A Day to Remember (from the yet-to-be-released album 'Common Courtesy').  
_**


	4. When We Disappoint Those Who Love Us

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

"As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,  
I wear my crown of thorns and pull the knife out my chest.  
I keep searching for something that I never seem to find.  
But maybe I won't, because I left it all behind.  
Now I'm stuck with this, and that'll never change:  
Always a part of me, until the very last day."

* * *

Sasuke nearly died once before.

Itachi had taken the then-seven-year-old Sasuke to an autumn-season fair for the first time, skipping out on school without either of their parents' permission. He hadn't wanted to, but Sasuke had begged and pleaded that they go. He really wanted to see a Ferris Wheel—it didn't matter to him how small it was, but he wanted to ride in one; he wanted to see the tops of trees and see the people as little ants. Their father, who was working at the police department at the time, couldn't take his sons to the fair that year due to work, and their mother was spending a week with family faraway.

It'd taken a lot of begging on Sasuke's part (and a promise that he would do all of his chores for two weeks) to convince Itachi to get him out of school early and to take Sasuke to the fair about two miles out of town; but it was so worth it in the end to get a first look at the fair, with all its bright colors and engineering feats that were rides. Though Sasuke was too short at the time for some of the rides (specifically the roller coasters) he didn't seem to mind as he forced Itachi to run around the fair all day with him, playing boardwalk games and eating candied apple after candied apple.

Itachi didn't get on any roller coasters, though he could, because Sasuke was still seven, and he didn't want to leave him on his own on the surprisingly crowded fair. Instead, Itachi played every game Sasuke asked him too, and did all the kiddy rides with him. He did everything and more of what Sasuke begged him to do, always laughing lightly, poking Sasuke's forehead and saying, 'Foolish little brother' in that gentle voice of his.

It was a wonder what one remembered and what one didn't. Sasuke didn't remember the color of what shirt he wore, nor did he remember how late it was that they stayed in the fair. He didn't remember even what the view from the top of the Ferris Wheel was, though that had been the primary reason for going to that fair in the first place was. Sasuke didn't remember many of the toys Itachi one him, or if Itachi was even having fun at the fair with him.

What he remembered was a knife. It wasn't large, and it wasn't intricate, but it stuck out in Sasuke's mind like nothing else about that fair could. He remembered everything about it. It was a pocketknife, and the hand it was in was pale, with a tattoo starting at the forearm and ending at the wrist, the bearer of whom had long hair and slit pupils, like a cat or a snake. That face was seared into his memory forever, as well as what had happened next to him—he was grabbed by the shoulder, yanked forwards as the knife impaled his abdomen.

He didn't remember why he'd been facing that way, or why Itachi wasn't right there to stop the man, but the next thing he did remember was that Itachi was grabbing him to stop him from falling, his face contorted in an unfamiliar expression of panic. It had been weird to see on his big brother's face, who was usually so calm, and that had been what got Sasuke afraid. He didn't hear anything around him, he didn't see anything but Itachi and the setting sun behind his head, making him seem more like a guardian angel rather than just his big brother. He'd loved his brother before that moment, but now he worshipped him like a god.

Maybe it was because he had worshipped him like a deity that God had chosen to take him away. Maybe it was because he was greedy with his guardian angel that he didn't have one anymore. He didn't know why, but what he knew was that Itachi didn't deserve to die early. Itachi was a good person, much better than he could ever be. Why couldn't he get cancer in Itachi's place? It just wasn't fair, not at all. Itachi could live without him. He'd done it for years before he was born. Itachi would've found a way to keep living. But he… he was weak, and Itachi had been all he'd known. Itachi had been everything to him, and he didn't know how to let him go. He didn't even know if he wanted to let Itachi go. What if he forgot him? What if everything that was Itachi was just disappeared? He didn't want that for his brother. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to be remembered.

But his father wanted him to let go. He knew Fugaku only had the best intentions, honestly. But he couldn't help but feel like he was trying to make Itachi disappear forever. He wanted someone to be angry at, and Fugaku was just the best target. He didn't make his anger known to his father, at least not intentionally, as he piled into Fugaku's car that fateful morning, wearing one of Itachi's ratty old t-shirts and a pair of jeans that Fugaku had pointed out multiple times was too small for him, head-to-toe in black.

Sasuke fiddled with the lip piercing with his tongue—which he got pierced a month or so ago-as he waited for his father to get into the car, trying not to note that Fugaku looked like he was about to drop dead from exhaustion, or that he was so sad that Sasuke wanted to hit himself for being the apparent cause. He knew he was causing nothing but trouble, but he didn't know how else to act, what else to do. It was how he got over the empty feeling inside of him. It was the only way he knew how.

Neither of the two of them talked on the way over to the offices, Sasuke having pushed his earbuds in and was playing what Itachi had referred to as 'neck-breaking music' after watching Sasuke, Naruto, and Shikamaru 'dance' to it. The loud screams Danny Worsnop, with the guitar playing of Ben Bruce, kept Sasuke from flipping his top as they crept closer and closer to the therapist's office, his impending doom getting closer and closer with each traffic light and turn.

All too soon, they were in front of it, Fugaku turning off the radio to look over at Sasuke. The teenager caught the cue as he tugged the buds out of his ears, _Not the American Average _ending with the lyric 'fucking bitch'. Sasuke paused it before another song could play, turning to his haggard father. He noted that the gray hairs in Fugaku's hair, hairs that hadn't been there a few years ago.

"Sasuke," Fugaku said, calling his attention back, "You know I'm just doing what I think is best, right?"

"Yeah," he said automatically, not sharing what he actually felt, and Fugaku knew it, expressing his displeasure with that fact with a heavy sigh.

"Are you always going to avoid talking to me? About anything?"

"I don't know."

"Sasuke, I really do care about you."

"I know."

"I have webbed feet and gills. I'm a merman."

It was a rise and he knew it. His father said ridiculous things when he felt like Sasuke wasn't listening. He had heard Itachi do it a couple of times, with less ridiculous things, and Fugaku had taken it a step further. Memories of Fugaku smiling as Sasuke began to laugh at his odd statements came to the forefront of Sasuke's mind, as well as other times when Fugaku was being otherwise ridiculous, not like the stiff Fugaku Uchiha that others knew. It was a childhood memory Sasuke would much rather leave forgotten and dead.

"Sure."

Fugaku sighed again. "I won't say anything about anyone being disappointed in you, because I know that won't get through to you. What I'll say is that I love you and I truly hope that this will work for you. If it doesn't… I don't know. I really don't know. But I can't keep beating my head against a wall, Sasuke. I can't help you if you don't help me, not anymore. I can't just continue to watch you destroy yourself, Sasuke."

"I know." Sasuke unbuckled his seatbelt and gave him another blank stare. "Can I go?"

Fugaku stared at him for a moment and then nodded, waving his hand and slamming it down on the steering wheel. "I came by already and filled out paperwork. The rest you can do by yourself. Don't ditch, Sasuke. I put a track in your phone." Sasuke had long since gotten over that fact. Ever since the fair experience, the brothers had been put on track.

"Fine."

"Please let her help."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Sasuke. Let her help you."

"I know."

"Can I get different answers?"

"I don't know."

"…Get out of my car."

The therapist's office was oddly nice, and actually comfortable in Sasuke's opinion, what with its modern furniture and large windows, making him feel like he wasn't trapped and being suffocated. He had a slight claustrophobia, ever since some stupid bullies shoved him into an old, abandoned refrigerator back in elementary school (another thing that Itachi had saved him from). The office only had two other people in it, so there was enough seats for him to choose from, thankfully, without risking getting a warm seat. Sighing in relief, he made his way over to the receptionist, placing his hands on the glass countertop.

The receptionist looked up at him with brown eyes and a wicked grin. "Well, aren't you cute?" she purred. The old him would've shivered at that, but he didn't really care now. "What's your name, cutie?"

"Sasuke Uchiha."

"New here, Saucy?"

He saw the play on the letters of his name (**SA**suke **UC**h**I**ha) and he chose to ignore it. "Yes."

She smiled again and pulled out a clipboard, placing it on the counter. "If you can't fill in something, don't force it, and don't give false info. I wouldn't want to have to kill you for making me feel like I messed up with the information we have in the system." Though it was said in a nice tone, Sasuke could tell she wasn't kidding.

"Thank you, Ms… Mitarashi," Sasuke said, taking the clipboard.

"Oh, that name will just piss me off. Call me Anko instead. I like it when people call me by my name," Anko said with happy and equally evil eyes. "Just have a seat, Saucy, and feel free to take a pen so you can fill it out. Don't forget the little survey on the flip. I made them myself. Allows me to really hash out your character in the system. Okay? Okay. You can go now." Almost immediately her smile faded, her immediate attentions turning towards her computer as she began to type away, the only thing indicating she wasn't actually doing work was the perverted look on her face.

Sasuke, instead of questioning it, found a solitary seat by one of the windows and sat cross-legged in the black armchair as he got to filling it out the usual form almost robotically, not even paying attention to what he was writing. His father had been letting him fill out his own forms since he was a kid, since Itachi had been diagnosed. He didn't even read what the form asked for until he finished with the formal and moved onto Anko's survey, his pen stilling as he read the first question, which read:

_In twenty words or less, describe your first sexual experience. _

Sasuke stared at it for twenty more seconds before moving onto the next question, which read:

_In twenty words or less, describe your first experience with prescription/nonprescription drugs and/or alcohol._

The questions only grew increasingly more personal.

_…__describe your first orgasm. _

_…__describe your sibling's first sexual experience (that you know about). _

_…__describe your feelings of inadequacy. _

_…__describe your love for your family. _

_…__describe your hate for your family. _

_…__describe your friends. _

_…__describe your genitals. _

_…__describe your wishes of what to do with your genitals later. _

_…__describe your sexual fantasies. _

_…__describe your sexual nightmares. _

…And so on and so and so forth. Sasuke wasn't sure what to think about these questions, or about how to even answer one of them (especially the ones about sex). He wasn't crazy about sharing his personal life, especially with a stranger.

A small chuckle off to his side drew his attention. His head snapped up almost automatically, taking in the sight of a boy sitting across from him in a similar armchair. He was grinning widely, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in Sasuke's incredulous form, his messy brown locks nearly covering his ears. Sasuke glared at him, disliking that the weirdo (he had to be a weirdo if he was in some therapist's office) was finding his state of confusion to be amusing.

The infamous glare of the Uchiha wasn't one that was taken lightly in this town. Everyone knew that the glare could make someone want to wet their pants. It made one feel stupid and childish and hated, and it was why Fugaku had been able to make a name for himself so easily as a cop. The glare could even make other Uchiha afraid. So when this kid started laughing out loud instead, Sasuke was confused. The boy held his side as he laughed (well, actually, cackled), nearly falling out of the armchair he was sitting in, his chest pressing against his knees, which easily came through the holes in his ripped jeans. His back shook as he laughed and snorted at Sasuke.

Slowly, the boy calmed down, sitting back into his chair as he giggled to himself, his grin wide and his cheeks bright red (though, Sasuke wasn't quite sure how he could tell that, given the fact that his cheeks had giant fang-shaped tattoos on them and nearly hid the blush). Sasuke stopped glaring; instead choosing to stare blankly at the boy as he slowly calmed down and became capable of speaking.

"Y-You don't have to fill out the survey if you don't want," he finally said, wiping his tearing eyes. "It's not mandatory. Anko just gets a kick outta seeing patients squirm. All that would happen if you completed it would be that she would add to your file that you're some sick pervert with incestuous desires." Sasuke stared at him, and he stared right back, though he seemed to be doing it for amusement rather than for lack of anything to say. "Trust me, you'll only hurt yourself if you finish your survey, man."

"Shiba-Inu, don't ruin my fun!" crooned Anko from the receptionist's desk, "I thought Saucy looked cute with that expression on his face. I know you thought he did, too."

The boy laughed again. "Maybe, maybe not; the world will never know!" he said happily, turning to Anko. "But I thought he was gonna explode, and I didn't want little exploded bits of him on Mom's walls. She would be mad at both of us; it was only repainted last week."

The other man in the room chuckled. "You two sure do keep it lively in here."

"You love us, Rhino," Anko purred.

"We're like cable, but we're free!" the boy laughed.

The man shook his head and turned to Sasuke, showing his scars. He knew him from somewhere; he knew he did, he just couldn't place him. "If you keep your head down around them, you'll be fine, I swear. They're harmless… most of the time."

Sasuke simply nodded, getting up and walking over to the desk, handing Anko the clipboard. Anko grinned up at him. "You're a man of very few words, aren't you, Saucy?"

"Maybe his development got stunted and so he only knows a couple of words. Maybe he has PTSD and can't talk beyond a few words without falling into the depths of his bad memories. Maybe he's on a mission to see how few words society needs to get by. Maybe—" Sasuke began to tune the boy out. He was way too mouthy for his tastes. Didn't the little bastard get tired of talking sometimes? And where the hell was he getting these theories from? The one about PTSD didn't even make any fucking _sense. _

Sasuke was silent as he made his way back to his spot, bringing his knees into his chest and putting his chin against them, looking out the window. He pulled out his iPod, feeling empty and bored without anything screaming in his ears. He cued up the song quickly, pushing the earbuds into his ears as the heavy sound of Neil Westfall and Kevin Skaff's guitars came to his ears in the form of _Violence (Enough is Enough)_, a copy of which he'd gotten illegally rather than waiting for the album, like he did with much of his music.

His fingers itched to strum the chords himself, though he never would. A guitar would be the last thing he would pick up out of anything in this world. It was the last thing Itachi touched in the house before he went to the hospital for those last six months. He was intent on keeping it in the exact same condition as when he left. It was a shared guitar, bought by their mother just a few weeks before her accident; a Les Paul. There was a time when every moment he had to himself; Sasuke would spend practicing on it, and hoping one day to buy off of the guitars from Synyster Gates' line. The American guitarist was absolutely amazing to both Sasuke and even Itachi. In fact, the last thing Sasuke managed to do for Itachi was take him to an Avenged Sevenfold concert, the first and only concert his elder brother had ever attended.

A hand waved in front of his face, capturing his attention. He glared at the owner of the hand, who was none other than the annoyingly loud boy. He didn't seem to notice Sasuke's disdain, and instead smiled brightly. Sasuke pulled out one earbud, and then he immediately chirped, "I'm Kiba Inuzuka. What's your name?"

"It's Saucy," called Anko.

Sasuke refused to respond to either of them, instead staring at Kiba as if he was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. Kiba's smile didn't falter, though, and he opened his mouth to speak again before the door to the therapist opened, a woman with long, wavy dark brown hair stepping out with a smile on her face. "Who's next for me?" she asked, looking at the three males there before she stared at the large scarred man. "Ibiki, did my husband do something stupid again?"

"Other than send me as messenger again? No. He just wanted me to tell you that he's staying late tonight. I would've just left the message with Anko, but I have no idea what she'd say to you if I left it, and besides, I thought it'd be nice to see you, Kurenai," said Ibiki with something similar to a bright smile, getting up and walking over to her.

"Did you draw the short straw this time?" she asked jokingly.

"Nah. Today was rock-paper-scissors." Sasuke stared at the man, recognizing him to be the familiar cop he was. He didn't remember him until Kurenai mentioned his name. Ibiki was an oversized cop if he'd ever seen one in his life, and he'd always made him a little bit more than slightly twitchy with his monumental size. He was a former military man turned military interrogator turned detective who was more than kick ass at making criminals cry. Ibiki used to scare him when he was a kid, and now, he hardly recognized him. That was just how little he cared. "Well, I need to get back. Take good care of Sasuke for us, Kurenai. Him and Naruto are the babies of the department."

Kiba gaped at him. "You knew who he was, Rhino?!" he sputtered.

Ibiki grinned at the incredulous teenager. "I never said I didn't. I don't talk to him often enough anymore." He turned back to Kurenai and smiled. "I'll see you later, Kurenai." She smiled in return and nodded, and Ibiki turned to Sasuke. "I hope you find her helpful. Kurenai here is one of the best I know."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Go back to work!" said Kurenai, playfully hitting his arm with a blush and small smile on her face.

Kiba grinned. "Mom's a married woman, Rhino."

"So you keep telling me, Kiba. Don't do anything stupid. I would hate to have to arrest your punk ass." He shook his head, turning to Kurenai. "I swear you and Asuma run a halfway house. Are you going to adopt Sasuke next?" She laughed and hit his hand again. Ibiki shook his head again, still smiling, and exited the office, waving to the chortling Anko.

Kurenai ran a hand through her hair and looked at the remaining two. "Well, who's next?"

Kiba jumped to his feet. "Me, Mom, me!"

Kurenai rolled her eyes. "Kiba, sit down. I was being sarcastic. I know you're my last patient of the day. You always are. I know it's Sasuke over there whose next." She gave the Uchiha a small smile. "Sasuke, I'm ready for you. Come on in."

Kiba pretended to pout, which quickly faded when Sasuke stood up. "By the way, I like _NJ Legion Iced Tea_."

Sasuke paused, confused and caught off-guard. "Huh?" he said [rather stupidly].

Kiba blinked. "You were listening to A Day to Remember. Well, my favorite song from them is _NJ Legion Iced Tea_, though _Violence _is good."

Sasuke stared at him for another moment before he figured out how to respond. "Hn." Sometimes responses are as simple as that. However, somehow people took that as a right to continue the conversation.

"It's not my favorite band, though. They're up there—I've got a couple of shirts, and I've been to a couple of concerts. You should try Rise Against. They're a little similar to them. A lot of people compare A Day to Remember with Pierce the Veil, but they're wrong. Rise Against is more like A Day to Remember than them. They're a cool sound, if you haven't tried it already—"

"Kiba," said Kurenai in an authoritative voice, "I kind of need Sasuke. He's my patient, sweetheart." Sasuke continued walking; not feeling obliged to speak, even as Kurenai wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He wanted to hate the feeling, but it felt like his mother's touch. It was so gentle, so warm, and so… so motherly. It was making his heart hurt a little just feeling it. He shrugged her off, trying to keep his throat from clenching up at the thought of his mother. If Kurenai felt bothered by it, she didn't make it known. She instead smiled softly and allowed Sasuke to lead the way into her office.

"Nice meeting you, Saucy!" called Kiba.

_I don't wish I could say the same, freak, _Sasuke thought, and chose to keep to himself.

* * *

Naruto sighed as he checked his watch again; tapping his feet against the ground impatiently putting his elbows onto the table before remembering that it wasn't proper etiquette to put them there. Groaning to himself, he pulled back before hesitating and then placing them back onto the cold mahogany surface, deciding that proper table manners didn't mean shit right now. He placed his head on the surface of the table, trying to breathe in and out as slowly as possible.

"Naruto?"

He looked up, blue eyes wide as he took in the sight he'd been waiting to see for almost thirty minutes.

"Hi, Mr. Nara," he said in a shaky voice, giving him the empty smile that he'd been practicing in front of the mirror for weeks after Itachi passed. Shikaku stared at him, midway through pulling off his raggedy scarf when Naruto called him Mr. Nara—the disrespectful little twerp was never that polite, even if he was in this phase of finding himself. Shikaku pulled his scarf off with a tired sigh, pulling off his equally raggedy jacket and placing it on the hook before sliding into the booth across from Naruto. "I ordered you a bottle of wine. I paid for it already. They won't give it to me without ID, though, so you need to show them yours and we should be okay to go."

Shikaku stared at him for a moment longer before he said, "I drove here, Naruto. I can't drive with alcohol in my system."

"It's okay; I was planning to drive anyways," said Naruto, waving his hand to call for his waiter. "So, um… h-how have you been, Mr. Nara? Everything good?"

"What's going on, Naruto?" Shikaku sighed finally.

"Hmm?! Why would anything be wrong?" asked Naruto nervously.

Shikaku leaned forwards. "You're twitching, you're stuttering, you're being polite, you're taking me somewhere without telling me where, you've called me here out of the blue, you're trying to get me drunk, and _you're being polite_. Based on that alone, I know that you're trying to tell me something unsavory, and you're trying to lessen the blow by giving me alcohol. It can't be that you're telling me I have cancer, because I have doctors for that and you don't work in a hospital. You have also had nothing to do with me except for a few basic interactions forced upon you by your father and brother since Shikamaru left.

"That leads me to believe that either you want money—which is highly unlikely, you'd go to Iruka or to Minato for that, and if that failed you'd see Tsunade or Shizune—or something happened, and by 'something happened' I mean that something's wrong with my son. You have two seconds to tell me what that is before I get back into my car, and go home."

Naruto swallowed. "W-Why wouldn't Shikamaru come to you?"

"Because he knows I'd put him in the hospital if he fucked up."

"Why are you assuming he's messed up, Mr. Nara?"

"Well, if he was hurt, he'd go to a hospital by himself and go about his business. He's not one for involving people needlessly; at least when he feels it's needless. So the only reason I can think of for Shikamaru not coming to me and going to one of his friends instead is because he fucked up, and because he knows I'll want to kick his ass. All I'm asking for is that you tell me how badly. I can always go to my car, go to the office—you know, the private security firm I started with Sasuke's father—and turn on the GPS tracking I have on his phone and on a few of his belongings and find his ass, if he hasn't disabled it." He settled back in the booth, staring at Naruto.

"C-Can we drink the wine, though? I spent the last of my money on it," Naruto said softly.

"How badly did he mess up, Naruto? Be honest with me. You're _not_ the one in trouble with me."

"Why're you assuming—"

"Do us both the favor. Cut the crap and tell me how badly. You don't even have to say what he did. Just, on a scale of one to five."

Naruto bit his lip. "It's my opinion, but I think it's a six," he said as the waiter brought the wine and one wine glasses, pouring some of the red liquid into it before placing the bottle on the table and walking away. "Maybe a six-and-a-half to a seven."

"So Shikamaru did fuck up?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, he fucked up."

"Okay. Start off by telling me where he is. Is he at school?" Shikaku asked, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. Damned good wine. Naruto made a good choice.

Naruto shook his head in quick and jerky movements. "No. He's… he's at my flat. He's sleeping in my wardrobe. He's literally sleeping there. He's got a bed made outta my clothes. He didn't want my dad seeing him."

"Smart. He knows that the moment Minato sees him, I'm getting a call, especially since we still go out for drinks on a regular basis," Shikaku nodded before saying, "Carry on. How long has he been there?"

"A couple of days. Three or four? I'm not sure. He said he was going to go to you after one night, but then he chickened out, and I let him. I wasn't sure what else to do. He was terrified, and so I let him, but I don't think he'll ever approach you if I don't come to you myself, so…" Naruto sighed and gestured to the table. "Here I am."

"Scared out of your mind. Well, at least I know that Shikamaru knows that he should be afraid of fucking up and telling me about it. Why isn't he in school?" Shikaku said, raising an eyebrow.

"He dropped out four months ago."

Shikaku blinked, staring at Naruto as if he had multiple heads instead of just the one. "What the fuck did he do?" he sputtered, eyes nearly bugging out of his skull.

Naruto rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, Mr. Nara, but… that's actually not the _worst_ thing Shikamaru's done. You might like to have some more of that wine right now."

* * *

The one thing Shikamaru treasured most in the world was his parents. Though he didn't show it often, they meant the world to him, their opinions of him, and their love for him. They weren't the best—his father had been in the military as a captain—and so he'd lived a while without his father, and his mother was noisy and she fretted over the smallest thing because she had to do the work of two parents. He was often angry at the both of them, when he was younger, but he respected them, too. His father came back and he really stepped up to the plate, and his mother only fretted because she loved him so much. They did the best they could with him, and he loved them for doing that for him. They weren't ridiculously rich, nor were they depressingly poor. He didn't get exactly everything for Christmas, but he got nice things. They were strict, but not too strict. They were lenient, but not too lenient. They were perfect parents to him. It wasn't their faults that he was just a fuck-up who happened to share the same gene pool.

He knew he couldn't continuously avoid his father. He wasn't that good, and he couldn't hide out in Naruto's wardrobe forever. As much as he would like to, he couldn't. His wardrobe wasn't that interesting, and it certainly wasn't big enough. Besides, he knew that every day he was just pissing Naruto off with his presence. He'd promised the day after, and it'd been nearly a week. It wasn't that he wanted to take advantage of Naruto's hospitality; it was just that every moment he thought about facing his father he died a little on the inside. He knew it was only a matter of time before he had to leave and had to face what he had coming for months, and he knew that when it came, Naruto would have to have a hand in it.

So he didn't get mad at Naruto when he found the door to Naruto's bedroom was ripped off by a furious Shikaku.

Shikamaru flinched, knowing that he was still twitchy and afraid of his father's disappointment, which he could see just growing in Shikaku's eyes as he grew more and more justifiably afraid. Shikaku stalked over to him, grabbing him by the collar of his borrowed shirt and yanking him to his feet, bringing the lanky boy to stand upright. When he had become eye-level with his father, he didn't know, but he figured in nearly the same moment that it wasn't something he should be thinking about right now.

"You have less than six minutes to get your shit, get downstairs, and to get your narrow ass into the car. Do you hear me?" growled Shikaku, his eyes displaying every shouted word that he refused to say. Shikamaru didn't trust his voice, and simply nodded, allowing his father to push him away (literally) and walk right back out the room, a wide-eyed Naruto staring at him with a gaping mouth. With shaking fingers, Shikamaru picked up his things, grabbing the magazines and the travel Shogi board given to him for his thirteenth birthday and stuffing it into the biggest pocket he could find, not worrying about if he had all the pieces. Without saying a word to Naruto, he ran out of the flat, running downstairs and pushing his few things into the backseat, following closely behind it.

The car seats had been shiny when it was new two years ago, and it'd smelled like it to. Now it smelt like shaving cream, musk, and the slightest bit of ash, and the only thing these seats were reflecting anymore was the almost red angry aura that his father seemed to take on.

"Get in the front seat," he ordered. Within ten seconds, Shikamaru was there, buckling his seatbelt. He knew that his father would hit him if he felt like, regardless of where he sat in the car, but the only difference between sitting next to him and sitting in the back seat was that he would feel less like a taxi driver. Shikaku didn't look at him before he put the key in, immediately flooring the pedal and jumping off the curb. Shikamaru swallowed but remained silent, knowing that his father would start yelling when he chose to, and that talking would only make things worse.

Oddly enough, though, Shikaku didn't yell. He didn't scream. He didn't hit. Besides for the sounds of the engine trying to appease the Nara by going as quickly as possible the car ride was quite silent. Definitely tense, but quiet.

The sight of his boyhood home wasn't the reassurance it should've been, but it was where the death-defying car ride ceased. He didn't dare step out of the car without an order, twiddling with his thumbs as he glared down at his boots, waiting for Shikaku to either hit or strike—or maybe do both. He didn't know what to expect. He'd never fucked up this badly. He wasn't sure how Shikaku would take something like this. He'd been okay with cigarettes, and he'd been okay with the need for anxiety medication. He'd even been okay with the weed. But heroin? Dropping out of school? Living with a group of drug addicts, in a perpetual orgy? He wasn't sure if Naruto told him all these things, but it was so beyond simply fucking up that he really wasn't sure what Shikaku wanted to even say.

Shikaku finally looked over at his son, his eyes betraying nothing.

"I could yell. I could scream. But that wouldn't do anything, would it?" he sighed finally, leaning the back of his head against the seat. "It wouldn't change the fact that you've taken what you had and decided to toss it aside in favor for of drugs. It won't change the fact that… that I can't even recognize you right now, as my son. It won't change the fact that you've been blatantly lying to me for months, and instead of looking in myself on you, I decided to let you be independent of me and your mother. I thought I didn't have to treat you like a three-year-old, honestly. I thought I could relax, and have peace of mind that you moved on with your life. That you've grown up, and I would never have to worry about you." He sighed again. "Obviously, that was a wrong thing to hope for."

"D-Dad—"

"Don't speak. I don't want to hear your voice," Shikaku growled. "The only time I want to hear your voice today is when you tell your mother about this. I don't want to hear you, or even see you while you stay here. I want you to get yourself through this, whatever way you have to, and then I want you to find a job and get the hell out. I can't baby you. I've already done all I could for you, but since you've already fucked up every opportunity you already had, I don't know what to do for you." He turned away, looking out to the street instead of at his son. "Just… just get the hell out of my car, Shikamaru. Go upstairs. I already called your mother, so she's waiting for you in the guest room."

"I—"

"Just fucking _go_, Shikamaru."

This was definitively worse than the hitting or the screaming. In fact, he would rather that than the sound of his father giving up on him, when he needed his father the most.

* * *

**Lyrics of the chapter are "Hear Me Now" by Hollywood Undead, from the album 'American Tragedy'.  
**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. The next chapter might not be coming out any time soon; I have two routes this can take on Hinata's part and I'm deciding if I want her standardly and understandably traumatized or go the oddball route that sounds just as appealing. Also trying to write a turn of events for Hidan and involve Asuma more (I've only used Asuma once in one of my fics, so I want to bring him more to the forefront). **

**Thank you, guest reviewer flare! Glad to know I've piqued your interests! :)**


	5. Simply Put, Honesty Honestly Sucks

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. **

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

I speak the truth,  
and everybody else knows it;  
so set your ego to the side  
and _just get the **FUCK** over it_!  
Can't waste my time  
on hateful people like you.  
So keep wishing you were me—  
and I'll keep making you _have to_!

* * *

Sleep didn't exist within his vocabulary.

While it was a nice idea, and he would love to have some of the mystical thing called sleep, he was always too busy. If he wasn't at his desk, he was in the field. If he wasn't in the field, he was at his desk. Once upon a time, he'd had potted plants in his flat—his lonely, cold, empty flat—but those were long since dead, even the cacti that could survive without water for what his stupid best friend swore up and down to be 'millions of years'. He was a workaholic; he knew, but he also didn't mind. Work paid bills. Work kept him busy. What the hell else would he do with his life if he didn't work?

Well, he could get laid. He really couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything beside his hand, and even that was almost a year ago. That didn't mean to say that his body didn't still function like it should; he was pretty sure that the boys still worked, and he was sure that if he watched some porn or got some really hot chick near him, his dick _could_ probably come back to life. But his sex life was the least of his worries. His worry was his job, and that was all.

Maybe that was why Rin broke up with him, because he would rather spend time at work rather than with her, working on their 'romance', whatever that was supposed to be considered. Really, what is so romantic about going to a cliff every Thursday to watch the stars? He could do that from his bedroom; he didn't need to waste any gas to go up to a cliff ten miles out of town? Why did he have to drop two hundred dollars on expensive jewelry every birthday, Valentine's Day, Christmas, New Year's, and anniversary? Romance was stupid and nowhere near as satisfying as putting criminals in prison to him. He enjoyed doing good for the world far more than having love.

He resolved to become a detective after his father committed suicide. He was involved with gangs, and he'd just reached a point in these gangs where he couldn't bear what he was doing anymore. He wanted to rid the world of people like that, to allow kids who were like him to keep their parents. At the time, his father had been the last person he'd had left. His mother had died giving birth to him, and he didn't have any family.

When his father died, he went to live in a boys' home, where he met Minato for the first time. Minato Namikaze, the late former police captain's son, was a teenager when he came around, about seventeen years old and he immediately took him under his wing, raising him as if he were a younger brother. When Minato left the orphanage, he somehow managed to take Kakashi with him, and he taught him everything he knew about the law, about criminals. When Minato joined the department and quickly worked his way up, he brought him into it when he was old enough. That was a bit over ten years ago now, and he was still happy to be on the force.

Well, _almost_ happy. If there weren't so many _twisted fucks_ in the world, he was sure he could be happier with his job. Just because the city they lived in was a bit smaller than most didn't mean that deranged fucks didn't still exist. They were odd; they sure did keep him on his toes. Rapists, serial killers, child molesters, general psychos-the town didn't have a lacking of the colorful variety of the worst types of criminal.

Kakashi Hatake groaned as he pulled a Pepsi out of the vending machine, popping it open and taking a long swig of it, as if it were a shitty beer rather than a shitty soft drink. He licked his lips, more so for the caffeine and sugar rather than getting any residual taste that was resting upon his lips. He would much rather have a Red Bull—or even a Five-Hour Energy—but this was a hospital. They didn't have those kinds of energy drinks at hospitals. They had soda and juice, because those things didn't speed up your heart to a million miles per hour when one ingested multiple cans of it, like an energy drink supposedly did.

He didn't particularly care. He didn't care about the taste. He disliked sweet-tasting things, but he really needed the energy and his coffees just weren't making the cut.

Crunching up the can in a tight fist, he tossed it carelessly into the wastebasket next to the vending machine, not checking to make sure if it went in—which, it did. Kakashi had amazing aim, whether he meant to or not. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked over to the three Hyūga sitting, stony-faced, in a line against the wall, none of them looking at one another or even talking. More than likely, Kakashi deduced, they were blaming themselves for the predicament.

They didn't care enough.

They didn't pay attention enough.

It was somehow their faults for not expecting this.

Kakashi had heard it all before. Yes, rapes were horrible. Yes, someone was definitely at fault. But it was neither the victim nor family's faults. The fault was in the rapist and the rapist alone.

"The bruises indicated she put up a fight, even until the end. Hinata went down swinging," Kakashi said to them as he sat down next to the youngest male, who barely paid attention. It had to be hitting Neji harder than anyone else. Neji was a cop, a detective; just like him. He'd sworn to protect and defend everyone—and then his cousin comes back from college, raped. He could understand why Neji would be so distraught. If he had family, he would feel the same way. "It could've been worse."

"How the _hell _could it be worse?" asked the youngest of the hallway. What was her name—Hanati? Hanagi? Something like that.

"Well," said Kakashi with a sigh as he began to pour over examples, "She could've been raped and then had her body dismembered. I think Neji's had a case before like that, right?" The girl flinched, though her facial expression stayed the same. "The rapist could've sent you all the body parts, piece by piece, limb by limb. He could've kept fucking her until he impregnated her, and then ripped out the fetus and—"

"Kakashi. Please bear in mind that Hanabi is thirteen," said Neji tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "She doesn't need to hear these things, and I don't need to be reminded about what could've happened. I _know_ it could've been worse, but that does not mean I want to imagine worse." He turned slightly to his little cousin, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Don't listen to Mr. Hatake, Hanabi. He's tired, and he dislikes rape." Tired was an understatement, and 'dislikes rape' was even worse of one, but he didn't note upon it. "Since you don't know him that well, you can't tell that this is him being reassuring."

"Maa, I'm not that bad," said Kakashi.

"I'm pretty sure you gave her a nightmare or two with what you said," grumbled Hiashi.

Kakashi forced a smile. "Ah, so you're still awake, Mr. Hyūga!"

"I find it hard to believe that you thought I could possibly be sleeping, especially after what you said."

"Maa, it wasn't that bad."

"Uncle, I know it doesn't seem like it, but Kakashi is the best at what he does," Neji said quickly, "He just has a really bad case of foot-in-mouth." He turned to Kakashi slightly. "Thank you for coming so soon. Sorry if you were doing something else, but…"

"Duty calls when duty calls. It's not like I've got much else of a life to speak of, so I don't mind," Kakashi replied brightly, still giving that fake eye-smile he'd so perfected. It wasn't like he had anything to go home to. It was empty, as empty as that smile he was giving. His job was his life, which was why he was damned good at it.

"I would deal with it myself, but…" Neji sighed. He didn't need to say it. Not only would it be against protocol—it was conflict of interest, having a personal connection with the victim and not a good thing in their business—but it would probably be more than painful to have to investigate it; to have to get details. Plus, there was also the problem that he might end up murdering the son of a bitch who'd touched his cousin, but Kakashi decided that it was not something he wanted to think about.

"I understand, and I've got no problems with it. Really, I'm glad to help you out, Neji. Just… maybe it's best you didn't tell Gai."

"Gai can hear a spider moving in a packed mall. You could dress up as a crack on a sidewalk and he'll find you as if you were dressed up as a highlighter yellow ten-story building. I really doubt he won't find out about this," grumbled Neji, "And I know that him and Lee will be coming here sometime to pay Hinata a visit. They care a lot about her—not that it isn't good that they do, but I… I really don't want to think about it."

"I understand." Really. He understood. All too well. Gai and Lee did not know a thing called boundaries.

A doctor came out of Hinata's hospital room and nodded. "We've got her under medication, but she's still awake for now, and we've patched up the worse of her injuries. She'll be sore and sensitive for the next few days, but she should be good to go home by tomorrow afternoon."

"Is she…?" Hiashi began, but he stopped midway, swallowing dryly at the idea.

"Is she pregnant?" finished Hanabi for him, biting her bottom lip.

"Luckily, probably not. Most of the blood was from her menstrual cycle. Though, sometimes, pregnancy can occur even if a woman's on her period, so if you can bring her back in about a week or two, we can do a complete check and make sure, although I do doubt it," said the doctor with a nod. "If she is, then… as your daughter is above the legal age of consent, she can choose to abort the pregnancy. There are several clinics in the area, and we can even do one in the hospital if she so chooses. If she doesn't, then we can recommend her a good doctor to go to—"

"Stop, please. Let's not think of this right now," Neji muttered, swallowing dryly. "Do you mind if my coworker here can go in and ask her a couple of questions? He's with the police department. He was assigned to my cousin's case."

The doctor looked at Kakashi. "Can I see a badge before I do?"

"Certainly," replied Kakashi with a groan as he stood up, ignoring the cracks of his bones as he walked over to the young doctor, pulling a badge out of his pocket and holding it up. The doctor swallowed and nodded, giving her consent, but not before she grabbed him by the jacket. "Ma'am?"

"I used to know her back in school," she said, whispering into his ear, "And she was always nice to me. She was always such a nice person to everyone, even to people who didn't deserve it. She does not deserve to go through this." Her bright green eyes locked onto Kakashi's mismatched pair. "Please, make sure that the man who did this to her is caught and made to suffer for what he's done to her."

"I will… Ms. Yamanaka," said Kakashi, remembering her alongside her father at the station, before he went to the bureau. Ino nodded, biting her bottom lip and walking away, hugging herself.

_The perks of being a moderately small-town rape victim_, Kakashi thought, _You've got no shortage of people to care about you. _He sighed, putting a hand into his pocket and rubbing the back of his head with the other. Without turning around to nod reassuringly at the family—he had enough experience to know that would do absolutely nothing to appease them—he went into the hospital suite, his fake politeness sliding off as he professionalism took command, becoming the definite authority of the room…

…Until he caught a good look at the girl.

She was… fucking _perfect_. Even with those stitches in her bottom lip and those bandages on her cheeks to cover up the bruises while they healed, she was beautiful. She'd been a cute kid he'd seen around town often enough, but now… now she was older, and she was beautiful. Kakashi didn't know what else to think about her other than just _perfect_. The picture of the perfect woman, whose past was rimmed with tragedy, which he knew now for sure that she had her share of in this life. She looked over at him, her eyes filled with tire and fear and such sadness and guilt that Kakashi immediately felt a twinge of emotion he hadn't felt in a long time, which he immediately pushed down for the sake of remaining calm.

"Ms. Hyūga, I'm—"

"Detective Hatake," she said with a nod, "We've met before. At Itachi Uchiha's funeral. You leant me your umbrella, an umbrella I've yet to return." Her voice was calm, and surprisingly even—she was probably trying to seem calm, and she was doing a good job at it. Kakashi could see through it, though; because of the look in her pale lavender eyes.

He nodded curtly. "I recall," he said simply, not remembering this umbrella she was speaking about. He didn't remember much from the funeral. Right afterwards, he'd gone drinking, so he didn't remember much of that day, really; all he remembered was that he woke up the next with a random woman in his bed, a woman he never saw nor heard from ever again, a woman that most definitely wasn't Rin and he made sure she never knew about, either. "Ms. Hyūga, I have some questions about what happened. Can you explain the events to me?"

"No." She didn't bat an eye, nor did he. While her case was _more than_ out of the norm (as rape cases go, of course) her reaction to his request was not. Many victims found it difficult to talk about what happened initially. It actually sometimes took years for these cases to really get proper testimonies from their victims.

"You seem coherent. Care to tell me why not?"

"I don't wish to speak about it."

"Afraid to speak about it?"

She nodded. "Yes." Her voice cracked slightly.

"Any particular reason why, besides because of the obvious?"

"N-Not one I want to share," she whispered.

He sighed, allowing his probably red, tired eyes to slide shut for a minute, briefly thinking about sleep. "Ms. Hyūga, I've been assigned to your case. I want to see the bastard who did this to you behind bars. It'd be a lot easier for me to my job if you tell me some of the basics—what he was wearing, what did he look like, did he have distinguishing characteristics—something. Just throw me a bone or something, please…"

"H-He was my b-boyfriend." Kakashi blinked in surprise at her quick admittance, his mis-matched eyes finding Hinata. She was looking down at her wrists, staring at the bruises that wrapped around them, looking like permanent bracelets. "H-He was m-my b-boyfriend, Detective Hatake." Holy shit. How her day definitively sucked. She was raped by the person who she was supposed to care about the most, the person who was supposed to protect her and keep her safe, no matter what the issue.

"Can I get his name?" asked Kakashi after a moment of silence.

She didn't seem to hear him. "I told him no."

"I understand, Ms—"

"I told him no. He wouldn't listen. He's been stressed, because of school and work study, and he doesn't like it when I tell him no. One minute, he was completely fine, and then the next… I screamed, but no one came. I kept screaming… and s-screaming… I-I tried to f-fight him, b-but h-he wouldn't… he just kept… over and over and _fucking o-over_…" _And here comes the break down, _Kakashi thought as she pulled her legs into her chest. "He would bite m-me e-every time I hit him, but I k-kept hitting him… h-he started w-with m-my mouth and moved onto m-my… m-my…" –she mouthed the word—"and moved on a-after a while. I k-kept on s-screaming and screaming b-but n-no one came. S-Someone even h-hit the door and told u-us to… to stop m-making the noise. W-When he stopped he f-fell asleep on t-top of m-me…" Tears dripped down her face. "I r-ran… I t-threw my s-stuff into my c-car… he always slept heavily a-after we…"

"Ms. Hyūga, please, calm down," said Kakashi, placing a hand onto her shoulder. She grabbed it with her hand, turning her face quickly, her eyes filled with pain. "Ms. Hyūga?"

"I-It's m-my fault. I know it is. I-I turned a-away Shikamaru when h-he needed m-me, and now I'm g-getting what I'm due." She closed her eyes tight, trying to stop the tears from dripping continuously.

"Ms. Hyūga, please remember, this isn't your fault. If you tell me the name of the boyfriend, I'll go up to your school and get him—tonight, even. We can have him behind bars before you're out of the hospital." Not true, but he needed to soothe this girl. Everyone had a different way of handling being raped, he knew it. Not every case was the same. And she… she was probably closer to accepting it than he'd ever seen before. She could talk about it, no matter how terrified and worried and haphazardly the words came out. At least she was expressing her blame of herself now rather than later—it was always better than later. Always.

"I-It is…"

"It isn't. Whatever your boyfriend did is on _him_, not you. Whatever he did, it's not your priority to worry about him. You have your own life to worry about, Ms. Hyūga, and you have a lot to worry about. But you must remember to never blame yourself. Hey." He touched her cheek gently, forcing her to open her eyes. "I'll catch the bastard, Ms. Hyūga. I swear to you I'll get him, okay? He will pay for what he's done to you. It's the worse thing, for a man to do something like this to such a beautiful young woman such as yourself." What the hell was he saying? What was he doing? Was he allowing emotion into this? He did _not _need to do this! "I'll come back tomorrow and ask more questions. We have the basis for a solid case with this one, I think."

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, and Kakashi smiled at her, letting go of her cheek and turned around, waving goodbye as he walked out into the hallway. His smile instantly slipped upon moving through the door frame, and he nodded at the three Hyūga who looked up at him. Hanabi was first to her feet, running inside the suite where her sister was. Hiashi and Neji moved slowly, looking at Kakashi pointedly. He was fine with that. He wanted answers. "Do either of you know of her current boyfriend's name?"

Hiashi frowned, shaking his head, and Neji swallowed before saying, "Kabuto, I believe. She told me that he's physics major at her college. He seemed fine when I met him about three months ago." Neji swallowed dryly again, his face showing his visible pain. "I-Is he… did he do this to her?"

"It appears so. She told me as much." Neji let out a small sound, what Kakashi didn't know, and his face turned red with anger. "She said he was stressed. She said that she said no."

"No fucking _shit_ she fucking said _no_! Fucking _look_ at her! You don't get that banged up screaming **_yes_**!" exploded Neji, walking away from the two older men, his hands behind his head. Hiashi's pain-filled eyes followed his nephew down the hall, showing as much despair as Neji was exhibiting. "He looked me in the fucking eye and fucking swore he'd never hurt her! Swore that he'd honor every bloody motherfucking wish Hinata had! And I… I fucking believed him, because Hinata fucking believed the cock-sucking little bastard, little four-eyed fag!"

"Neji," said Hiashi in a tired, yet authoritative voice. "You need to calm down. You're making a scene."

"Fuck _propriety_, Uncle Hiashi! That's my _little fucking __**sister**_! That cunt _raped_ her! He hurt her in the _worst possible fucking way_! I'm not going to fucking _calm down_ until his _balls_ are served to me on a silver-fucking-platter!"

"Neji, you can't kill him. While you may want to, all it'll do is get you landed in jail, and the entire investigation would be forfeit," said Kakashi.

"_Fuck investigations_! That twat hurt her! He saw my face, saw my badge, saw who I fucking was, and he still fucking did this! He knew what I would do if someone I cared about was hurt, and he did it anyways! He needs to be fucking _murdered_!"

Kakashi rubbed the back of his head and said in a steely, cold voice, "Technically speaking, Neji, I can take you to jail just for admitting to a possible prospective homicide." Even though pissed, Neji flinched at the coldness of Kakashi's tone. "Calm down. We know he's guilty. What was in—what may be in—Hinata's body is testament to that. She has the physical scarring and the right state of mind to prove something like this. We have his ass pinned. I bet if I investigated the flat or house or dorm or wherever she was, I'll find signs of a struggle. And this seems rather spontaneous, so… it'd be reasonable to assume that this was not the first time he's hurt her. Admittedly, not on this level, but I think there was an amount of domestic abuse. I'm not sure. But I doubt that he'd hurt her this bad for a first time. I'm just speaking my observations here, but I'm rarely wrong."

Neji stopped moving, glaring at Kakashi. "All you've done is given me reasons to go up to that college and kill him in the middle of his fucking class."

"I can see that. But, Neji, she _needs_ you. She needs you here, by her side, and completely and totally sane. She does _not_ need you to _flip your __**shit**_ and lose your freedoms killing someone when it isn't in self defense. She's terrified and she needs her family—her whole family. She needs people who care about her around. I suggest you call her friends, as well—all of them, even if they haven't talked. She needs people who care about her."

* * *

Sasuke had to admit; he rather liked Kurenai's office. It was this odd smash-pairing of modern and vintage, what with the window-wall and sleek silver-gray carpeting paired with worn, yet somehow clean and shiny old furniture that was actually comfortable and not stiff like a board, which was how he assumed all seats in public buildings simply were. He would've liked it a hell of a lot better had it not been a therapist's office, but that was no fault on the office, it was simply Kurenai's fault for wanting fuck around in his life.

To say he didn't like Kurenai was putting it mildly. As a person, he had nothing against her. She was pretty, she was nice, she was polite, and she was professional—already, she had a leg up over most of the females he knew, other than Hinata and his mother. However, he hated her as much as he hated his fangirls, simply because she wanted him to get in touch with his feelings. If he really wanted to 'feel' things, he would've done so already, in his opinion. Did it occur to her that he simply didn't want to think about it? To feel about it? No, probably not.

_Stupid nosy bitch. _

"So, Sasuke, can you tell me a little bit about yourself?" Kurenai asked thirty minutes into the session, after multiple failed attempts to get him talk about his problems and why he was here, neither of which he answered straight.

"I drink and do drugs and fuck anything with legs." Technically, the truth. He did do all those things. "I also fight with anyone." Also true. Damn, he was doing good.

If Kurenai was surprised or disgusted by his words, he didn't know, and she also made damned sure not to let him know. "And do you like doing these things, Sasuke?"

_No. Of course not. It's shallow and disgusting and I want to stop doing it all because it's everything Itachi would hate. _

"I don't know."

"That's fine, not to know. You're still young," Kurenai responded, giving him a soft smile that made him want to hate her less (which, of course, made him increase the amount of hate he was feeling. "If you have a choice though, Sasuke, would you be doing all those things? Or would you be doing something else? What would you rather be doing?"

Playing guitar. Writing music with Naruto. Singing with Hinata. Making fun of Shikamaru when he concentrated on something else besides that stupid chess game because he found a new drum beat that he was going to get down and make better than it already was. Playing in their crappy band again. Smoking weed with Shikamaru, Hidan, Sasori, Kisame and Tobi after a long day in order to let out some tension. Talking with Itachi. Laughing with his father. Laughing with Naruto. Laughing with Itachi and Naruto and his father. Running around a supermarket with Hinata in the cart, the both of them laughing their asses off for no good reason other than having drunk a little bit too much of her father's most expensive vodka mixed in with orange juice because neither of them could handle vodka straight. Going to college. Getting a life. Getting a career.

Any of those things and more.

"No."

Kurenai nodded, writing something in her little notepad that he knew she wasn't going to let him see.

"Tell me about your favorite memory, Sasuke. The best memory you have," she said.

"I don't have any," he immediately said.

She looked up from her notepad, her hand stilling, pen hovering over the paper. Her red eyes showed what seemed to be worry.

"Everyone has a favorite memory, Sasuke."

"I don't." _Not anymore. All of mine are tainted. _

She put her pen down on top of the notepad and fixed her position on the couch, one leg crossing over the other. Shit. Now she would start offering advice. He didn't _want_ advice. He didn't want another person to tell him how shitty he was as a person, which she would inadvertently do by advising him to do things, things she would insist would make him better that he would have to do lest his father got back on his back about getting better. Why did his father have to worry about him so much? Why couldn't his father just not give a shit, like how it'd seemed like when he was a lot younger, before his mother's death? Why did his father have to be so parental?

_Stupid question. _

"So you're saying that you have no good memories, Sasuke?" she asked gently.

"Don't," he said, looking away. _Making eye contact with her is freaky. It's like she sees into me. She just knows I'm lying, doesn't she? She just wants to torture me to high hell. _

"Don't _what_, Sasuke?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't give me advice or bullshit sayings that make the assumption that I'm just another problem that needs solving." God, those things irritated the crap out of him. Half of his fights started out with those kinds of shit-hole things.

"No, Sasuke, you're not just another problem that needs solving. You're a person who needs healing," she said, "And I will not. I'm simply asking you a question. Are you sure that you have no good memories? Not from childhood or from the past few years?"

"No. I don't."

"Are you sure, Sasuke? Or is it because your favorite memories involve Itachi that you'd wish not to talk about such things?" Sasuke didn't look up from where his onyx eyes were attempting to burn a hole in the couch. He really wanted to punch her for saying Itachi's name aloud. His life shouldn't be any of her fucking business. She should stay the hell out of it, out of his problems.

"I don't want to answer your question."

"Which one? The first or the second?"

"Either of them."

Kurenai nodded, picking up that pen again and writing something in her notepad. "Sasuke, would you like some tea?"

He was thrown off by the sudden switch of topics. "Huh?" he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled reassuringly at him. "Would you like tea, Sasuke? My teapot's still hot," she said, pointing to the brown ceramic teapot that Sasuke had assumed was for decoration. "It has only chai tea in it, though, I'm afraid. Would you like some?"

He paused before saying, "Fine." He would die before admitting to anyone that he liked chai tea to anyone.

Her smile widened. "Can you get the teacups out from the cabinet over there, then? The one that's right above the small bookshelf behind my desk, close to the windows."

Sasuke stared at her for a moment, trying to decide if she was fucking with him, before getting up and walking over to the cabinet, opening it to find that it, indeed, did have teacups in it—dainty little china ones similar to the ones his mother kept in the top shelf of the cupboards so Sasuke couldn't reach it and risk breaking them, which were now gathering dust in their bubble-wrapped cocoons at the top of the attic. He picked the two of them, bringing them over and placing them on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch.

"Thank you very much, Sasuke," she said with a smile, picking up the teapot and pouring carefully into the cups. "You know, I used to have another teapot, one that matched these cups. It was very pretty. It was my mother's tea set, and I treasured it. Every weekend when I was a teenager, I would spend four hours cleaning and re-cleaning the entire set because I liked to see it shine."

"I see." _Why am I interested in this story? It's boring as shit!_

"My mother gave them to me shortly before she died, as a wedding gift. She knew I adored it, and she hated the damned thing, so it worked out well for both of us. It mattered a lot to me, especially since the set was the only thing my mother got to give to me, and it was given to me with a lot of love. So you can understand how badly I felt when I—purposefully—broke the teapot." She took a sip of the tea. "I had a miscarriage."

Sasuke blinked. Fuck. That sounded bad.

"It was my first baby—my only baby. I'd bought all sorts of things for their room. Onesies and socks and toys and rattles and bibs and dummies. So many cute little things, and I was so excited. I wanted to be a mommy so badly, and I couldn't wait to see their perfect little face. And then one day I woke up to bloody sheets and a frantic Asuma. I didn't understand what was going on at all. I just remember praying for my baby. Praying for the little boy to live. My little Hiruzen to be just fine. And then… he wasn't fine. My little baby boy, my sweet innocent baby boy, wasn't okay, and I couldn't protect him.

"I locked myself in my house for weeks. I wouldn't talk to Asuma, nor would I listen when he asked me something. Asuma had to do everything by himself, including making sure I didn't starve and I didn't turn into a stone in bed. While he was at work, I was making tea for myself, because for once I was in the mood, and my eyes just happened to pass over the teapot, and I remembered my promise to my mother to have a child to pass the set onto once I hated it as much as she had grown to. And I was so angry with myself for making such a promise when it was obviously impossible for me, so I threw it against the wall and broke it into a million pieces."

"Why?" Sasuke asked, frowning.

She looked up from the teapot and to Sasuke. "Why what, dear?"

"Why are you telling me this story?" he specified.

Her eyes filled with understanding, and she nodded sagely, understanding now what he was asking. "I'm telling you that I've lost someone before, Sasuke. I know how it feels to lose family. I know how it feels to feel like you aren't worthy of anything."

"Don't patronize me."

"I am not patronizing you, Sasuke. I am merely saying a fact." She took another sip of tea. "I'd like to ask you something, Sasuke."

"It's your job."

"Have you seen any of your friends in the past few months?"

"Yes."

"Let me rephrase. Have you seen any of your friends in the past few months for the purpose of meeting up in a sociable way?"

"… No."

"Why not? Do you not think they care?"

_Yes. _"I dunno."

"Yes, you do, Sasuke, otherwise you wouldn't avoid them."

"I'm not. They left me."

_Shit, I didn't mean to say that! _

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you think your friends dislike you, Sasuke?"

"… Yeah."

"Why?"

Sasuke was now glaring, growing angry with her questions. Of course they did! He was a bastard and an asshole and he wasn't worthy of any of their precious fucking time. "I don't want to answer your question."

Kurenai immediately backed off. "I didn't mean to push you. I apologize," she conceded. "You don't have to answer the question, Sasuke. All questions are optional. These sessions are not to interrogate you, it's to help you find yourself."

"I'm not lost." He slammed back the tea. "I want to leave. Is the hour up yet?"

She looked at her watch. "No, it isn't. You have a couple more minutes left. Would you like more tea?"

"I want you to leave me the fuck alone," he hissed. "I don't want your pity or your help."

"I know you don't. Nobody wants other people to tell them that they have a problem. It goes against our pride as human beings to have our flaws pointed out to us, even when we truly do need to have such things pointed towards." She smiled and leaned forwards, taking the teacup from Sasuke's hand. "I have an exercise for you to do before we next meet on Saturday."

"What?" he snapped, frustrated. He was just hating therapy more and more now, hating her more and more.

"I'd like you to contact someone you consider an anchor. When I say an anchor, I mean someone who you tell things to, in order to relieve stress. It can be anyone, and in any form you'd like. It doesn't have to be for a long amount of time, nor does it have to be about anything our sessions are pointed towards. It can be about anything you want."

_I've got NO ONE __LIKE THAT YOU **STUPID BITCH**! _

"Hn," he said, sneering, "Can I go now?"

She checked her watch. "You still have two minutes, but honestly, I think we've gotten far enough for me to allow you to leave a couple of minutes early. Remember, Sasuke: our next session is on Saturday at five PM."

"Fine. Whatever," Sasuke said, getting out of the comfortable seat, almost running out of her office and smack-dab into the annoying brat from earlier—whatever his name was. He hoped to just escape, but much to his dismay, the little fucker grinned at him excitedly, acting like a puppy that he just wanted to kick. Why did he hate him so much? It wasn't like he'd done anything bad to him other than try to talk his fucking ear off.

"So? Didja like her? Didja think she was any good?" he asked happily.

"Hn," responded Sasuke, pushing past him.

Unfortunately, the kid was right on his heels.

"She's good, isn't she? And really nice! I've never met someone as nice as she is before!" he said.

_Would you just fuck off?! _"Hn."

"You don't talk much, do you, huh? Why so mysterious? Do you not know how to speak?"

Sasuke's eyebrow twitched, and he whirled around on Kiba, giving the kid his Uchiha glare (why Naruto had insisted on calling it that, he had no clue whatsoever), which usually had people ready to stop talking to him but only made the boy pause. That was more than enough for Sasuke, who snapped, "Of course I can fucking speak, you annoying little twat."

The kid—the twat—blinked, and then grinned. "I like you."

_Fucking great_. He didn't want him liking him. "Fuck off," he spat, turning around and running out of the office without another word, storming past a tall brown-haired male with—facial paint? The fuck? Oh, who the fuck cared! Not him! The weirdos who walked into Kurenai's office didn't matter to him, not at all!

"Bye, Saucy! I'll see you when you come back again!" the little twat yelled after him, to which he returned with the finger before storming down the stairs.

* * *

**Here it gets... spotty. **

**[I believe] that this lost me a reader. **

**Basically, Gaara and Kankuro are introduced in this part. **

**It's not a good way to introduce people. **

**I'll put it simply - BDSM. **

**If uncomfortable with the suggestion of bondage and domination and all the bad shit I KNOW I put here, please, heed my warning. **

**Skip to the next emboldened point.**

**It'll say "A/N". **

* * *

"Ah! Ah!"

Gaara Sabaku smirked down at the little masochist squirming around beneath him, their asshole clenching down on his dick so tight that he wondered if it could rip it off. He reached between himself and the squirming female body, upping the level on the vibrator he'd shoved into their wanton, tight heat before plunging again into their even tighter asshole, making them scream again and pull on the ropes that tied them to his bedpost, the blindfold around their eyes stained with tears that they unabashedly shed due to the pain/pleasure mix that he made sure he caused them. His hands ghosted over each red sore he'd caused with his hits, making sure to stroke each bloodied bit with his thumb and make them scream more.

"Ah!"

Gaara rolled his eyes, finding the screaming from the masochist to be beyond annoying. Not skipping a thrust, he picked up the bright red ball gag, pushing it into the open mouth and clenching it tight, muffling their screamed moans and making them stretch their jaw to accommodate the gag. He moved his hands down, tweaking the pierced nipples and making her scream again and pull against the rope bindings with renewed vigor.

He didn't speak.

He never spoke.

It wasn't necessary for him to speak.

He pulled out of their tight bottom hole, watching with interest as the twitching rim tried desperately to keep him in. Having no interest in such a thing, he picked up the second, bright blue, ribbed vibrator, shoving it into the hole he once occupied without the use of lubrication (another thing he never used in these sessions), smirking as they arched off of the bed. He knew that it was painful. He knew they liked that pain, and they knew that he liked seeing their pain.

Where this sadistic side of him originated from, he didn't truly know. Maybe it was from his abusive father who liked to whip him and his older brother. Maybe it was from being an infant that was found in a dirty basement in a pool of their mother's blood, their slaughtered body not even a full foot away. Maybe it was from getting the shit kicked out of him in school since elementary school all the way up into high school. He didn't know. What he did know was that he didn't give even half of a shit. He was fine with it. He was fine with getting off on other people's pain. He enjoyed it.

Grabbing the ear buds and iPod off of the bedside table, he shoved the buds into her open ears, pressing the small play button on the Shuffle and allowing her to hear the dirtiest songs he'd found on the internet, turning it all the way up so she wouldn't hear him getting off the bed (he was sure with what he was doing to her, she wouldn't feel the movement of his body next to her), pulling on a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and walking out into the rest of the apartment, out of what he called the playroom.

* * *

**A/N**

**It's done.**

**I might very well have to get an Adult FanFiction account just for this story.**

**I won't say what happened there, but there was an important point in there, so I'll repeat just that bit. **

**As an infant, Gaara was found in a pool of his mother's blood (an idea I admittedly got from watching Dexter). **

**As children, Gaara and Kankuro were abused by their father. **

**For those who did read it and weren't ready for it... I did warn you. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable and/or sickened, but I warned you. **

**(THIS AUTHORS NOTE WAS WRITTEN AT (U.S TIME) 4:08 ON 9/5/2013. ANYONE READING AFTER THAT TIME IS CONSIDERED BY ME TO BE SUFFICIENTLY WARNED.)**

* * *

Feeling hungry, he went into the kitchen, pulling out the leftovers he had left from his most recent visit to his adoptive mother's house, putting it into the microwave just as he heard the keys to the locked door turning.

Like always, his older brother's stop was to the kitchen, already looking for something to eat like the fatass that both brothers knew he was. He shot Gaara a grin as he looked into the microwave, eying the fried chicken and mashed potatoes that was warming up.

"Mine," Gaara said, rolling his jade eyes.

Kankurō play-pouted, but pulled out a Twinkie from the breadbox without argument, unwrapping the too-sweet confectionery that Gaara just couldn't eat out of disgust. "Mom says hi," he said, taking a bite of the yellow treat. "So does Kiba. He also wants us to buy him alcohol for the party he's planning on throwing."

"Idiot," Gaara said affectionately about the younger boy, "Mom and Dad'll kill him—especially Dad."

"He knows. He said that it doesn't matter though, because throwing a party without your parent's permission is the cornerstone of any successful teenaged life or some bullshit like that," Kankurō said, finishing up the sweet before looking Gaara up and down. "Anyone here tonight? You look like you've had something."

"Yes."

"Tied up?"

"Yes."

"Waiting patiently?"

"Of course not."

Kankurō nodded. "Good. I assume that you got bored?"

Gaara nodded as well. "Quite. Plus, it seemed unfair to have all the fun and leave my dear older brother completely out of it."

Kankurō grinned. "Great. Gee, Gaar, what did I ever do to deserve a brother like you are? You're so good to me. You're a gift. An angel."

"Stop. You're gonna make me lose my appetite, and it would be a shame to waste Mom's chicken." Almost on cue, the microwave rang out, signalling its finish. As Gaara moved to open it, Kankurō washed his face quickly at the kitchen sink, washing off the face paint before he left the kitchen, a smirk evident on his hard face before disappearing into the playroom.

He and Kankurō had been doing this for a while—six years, in fact, ever since Kankurō graduated from high school. He'd been sixteen at the time, and it also had been his first time with anyone sexually. It was both brother's first times with this, and so it was admittedly slightly awkward to be doing such a thing together, but they found that it released every sadistic tendency they had so well, so amazingly well. It didn't take very long for either of them, both Doms in this own rights, to get over this awkwardness and to establish a system to their sessions, which was quite easy to do once Gaara graduated from high school and their adoptive mother allowed him to move out from her house and into Kankurō apartment.

Gaara didn't know how he could find these people, these masochistic insatiable whores, but they were attracted to him like moths to flies. This girl was someone they'd had multiple times before, though, but she was a good lay and Gaara knew just how to set her up, to set her on the edge. His style was more aggressive, and definitely more silent, and (with the blindfolds) probably scarier that Kankurō, who liked to tell them all the terrible things his mind could come up with to do with them, and liked less to play with toys and preferred to torture them right until the very end, to have them play right into the palm of his hand, like a puppet master.

Both brothers, though, liked to draw it out. That, they had in common. Gaara remembered once that their father would beat Kankurō and himself for hours on end, always making it seem like it was going to stop, like it was going to end, and then upping the ante. Every time seemed to get worse, to get more painful, and like they were losing more control over themselves.

Another reason why they weren't the submissive type.

Another reason amongst many.

It was almost nine o'clock before Kankurō emerged from the playroom, the woman right behind him. He didn't know how she always did it, but she somehow managed to look like she hadn't gone through about five or six hours of an aggressive and thoroughly submissive session, her dress and hair all neat, looking definitely prepared to go back to her boring life as a housewife. Whose wife she was, neither brother knew, and she didn't say. It didn't matter to them. Her personal life was of no consequence. To them, if she became more than a play thing, they might be inclined to care more about her, to worry about hurting her (despite liking inflicting pain, they were humans nonetheless).

"Satisfied?" he finally said to her for the first time that night.

"Thoroughly," she purred, smiling at him in a seductive way. "I'll call if I require your services again, Mr. and Mr. Sabaku."

"Do," both brothers responded at the same time as she let herself out.

Kankurō let out a slow breath before flopping down on the couch next to Gaara, not paying any attention to the football game on the screen, though Gaara was. He was a deep follower of the Chelsea football club, having gotten into the team after one of their 'playmates' gifted him with tickets to a game they'd done with a stunningly wide margin.

"Fuck!" he cursed when Lampard got the ball stolen by a player on the opposing team. "Fuck, fuck! Stop aiming to cross it, asshole, and use the fucking footwork you've got to have!"

Kankurō sniggered. "You get too into these games, Gaara."

Gaara didn't hear him. "Fuck yes, Čech! Keep that fucking shit out! Fucking toss that shit to Ramires and _let's score a fucking goal_!"

"I got mislead again today," Kankurō said casually.

Now Gaara heard him. He looked over at his older brother, who was exhibiting no negative emotions in his face or his body language. He didn't need to. His eyes displayed it all. "She… she wasn't there?"

"Nah. Another false lead. Drove four hours out to the seaside, there and back, for another false lead." He sighed. "So I guess we're going back to the drawing board, man. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry you drove out there. I could've gone," Gaara said, all attention now focused on his brother.

"Nah, it's okay. It gave me an excuse to talk to Mom about something that isn't… well, about sex." Gaara's eyes softened more, which they only did around family. Kurenai didn't much like that her two adoptive sons were into BDSM, but she tried to accept it for their sakes. It was their way to cope—their only way to cope.

"What did she say about it?"

"The only thing she could. That it's going to be hard, but she'll stand by us no matter what, and that we shouldn't be let down. After all, she did run away. She isn't going to make it easy for us to find her." Kankurō looked down at his hands. "I kind of wish she would, though. I miss her, Gaar."

"So do I," Gaara said softly, hairless brows furrowing. "I don't blame her for leaving, but… I just want closure."

"Me, too." Kankurō's voice was soft. "I still want to try finding her. Do you still want to try?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding, "Maybe I should pull in someone from work to help us out. I mean… I work in at the station."

"Correction. You work at the forensics lab at the station," Kankurō said, "Which is still really cool, I may add. But no. I don't want coppers getting involved. This is a family thing." He flicked a glance at his younger brother, slightly worried. "Nobody down there knows, do they?"

"No. No one but Dad, and he promised to stay out of it unless asked."

Kankurō nodded, relieved. "Good. Let's keep it that way, yeah?"

Gaara nodded in response. "Yeah. Yeah, Kanky. Alright."

* * *

**Don't ask me where this came from; 'cause I don't even know. It happened and that's all I can say.**

**Lyrics from "2nd Sucks" by A Day to Remember, from the album 'What Separates Me From You'.**

**Also: I am a fucking _diehard _Chelsea fan and I do scream like that during the games at the players like they can hear me. I get even worse when I play FIFA. I'm terrifying when watching football, but I get people pumped and screaming with me. **


	6. A Wolf Lies Amongst the Sheep

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. **

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

"In the belly of the beast, I'm a _wolf_ amongst _sheep_.  
At the bottom of the hill, but at the top of the street;  
Above the boulevard, schoolyard; victim of deceit,  
And you're running hard, but this wolf it's always at your feet.  
Yeah, you've seen it all before, but the wolf's outside your door;  
And you're old enough to run, you ain't hiding anymore!  
Another victim of the star-spangled banner of the street!  
**Now you're in the world of the wolves—**  
**And _we welcome all you sheep_**."

* * *

"_IT HURTS_!"

Yoshino bit her lip, fisting her hands on her pants leg as she fought the powerful urge to rush to his bedside and to hold his hand. She knew she couldn't just do that. She wasn't stupid. She knew that this was his fault, no one else's, and he needed to deal with it by himself if he was going to quit cold turkey. She couldn't be a mother right now. She needed to keep that door shut, and she needed to keep it shut tight. This was his fault, and he needed to fix his mistake by himself. He couldn't have his mother just standing there beside him. He might try to talk her into buying him more.

And, knowing her, she'd probably agree to it, too.

She knew all this, but she also knew that it was difficult, to say the least about it. Downright painful, actually.

She sighed to herself as she picked up the teakettle with trembling hands, managing to pour herself a cup of hot water without too much difficulty. She moved to throw a tea bag into the cup before Shikamaru screamed 'It hurts' again, and so she missed and ended up hitting the back wall of the counter with enough force to actually break the tea bag open. She cursed loudly, biting her lip.

Shikaku was almost immediately behind her, wrapping his large arms around her small body, pulling her into him. She didn't even realize she was crying until she noticed tear drops dripping down onto his bare arm. Usually, at that point, she would've attempted to stop crying, but all she wanted was to cry harder, and so she did, her shaking hands grabbing Shikaku's broad arms with all the strength she had, her entire body heaving with the effort to get the tears out.

"Oh, God, I'm a horrible mother," she sobbed, her heart filled nearly to the rim with pain. "This is my fault…!"

"Don't say that, Yoshino. Don't say that about yourself. Don't do this to yourself. This has nothing to do with you. This isn't your fault," Shikaku immediately argued.

"Then who's is it!?" she half-wailed, half-screamed. "It's got to be _someone's_ fault, Shikaku! Who's fault is it if it isn't _mine_?! I'm his _mother!_ It has to be my fault! _It has to be_!"

"Well, it's not. Shikamaru made his decision, baby, and he chose this. This has nothing to do with you, or how you did as his mother, as his parent. You were an amazing mother." Shikaku swallowed. "If anything, it was _my_ fault. I was never a great father to him… I wasn't there for him for a long time, and when I could be, he was already so independent… I didn't think there was anything left for me to do… I should've done something—anything…" he trailed off, swallowing his own pain. "I'm the horrible parent here, not you… _never_ you…"

"It's not your fault, Kaku, it's mine…!" Yoshino cried out, sobbing harder. Hearing Shikaku's own self-blame was enough to make her sobs start afresh. She didn't want her husband to blame himself. Wasn't it bad enough that he'd been the one out of the family to find out? From _Naruto_, no less? A person who wasn't a member of their family, a person who Shikamaru hadn't even been in contact with for a year?

"Naruto said he was afraid to tell me. He was afraid to shame me. Shikamaru must fucking hate me, because he was scared to tell his own father the truth. Shouldn't he be able to tell me things?" he half-asked, half-begged, needing an answer of some sort, an answer that would make things clear, because honestly, he was confused. He was ashamed and confused that his own son would be afraid to approach him when he so obviously needed help, and angry at whatever pushed Shikamaru to even think about heroin. A need for heroin doesn't come out of nowhere, after all. What had Shikamaru gone through that he felt the need for drugs, for heroin? He knew that he suffered from anxiety. Anxiety had to be where it started, but what had been the thing that made something like turn into a drug addiction?

Yoshino continued to cry, her sobs wracking her small body, and Shikaku couldn't figure out how to say more than what he already had. He knew that nothing he could possibly say could convince her otherwise, and nothing she could say could make him feel any different. They felt as if they were to blame, as if they had faulted in some way, and neither of them could feel any different about it, as parents.

They couldn't feel any different than to feel as if they'd failed Shikamaru in some way.

As if they hadn't done enough.

If Shikamaru had been listening, he would've disagreed. He would've done something—anything—to make them feel otherwise. To let it be known that they had no blame in this. This was _his_ fault. This was _his_ choice. He couldn't change it, but there was absolutely no reason for them to find a way to blame themselves.

He chose it for himself, not them.

He just wished that his anxiety, his anger, his guilt, his pain, all the factors that had gone into making his decision to pick up that needle; he wished it'd never happened, that he'd never felt it. He wanted to be the child his parents were proud of again, the pure and happy son they had known for so long, only to be ripped away, stomped on, torn up, crumpled, and then pissed on by no one else other than him, him and his sorry fucked-up state of mind.

Shikamaru shivered again and kicked out against his will, fisting the pillow tightly as he gritted his teeth, trying to stop from crying out in pain from the cramping of his abdominal muscles. He wanted to beg for some sort of drug; even Tylenol, but he didn't want anything remotely drug-like. Medicine was out of the question, even something as little as a Tylenol. If he was going to completely kick this, then he needed to be isolated and ignored. He needed to regain his independence once more.

The blanket covering his body was hot, almost too hot, but he knew that was just because his skin was hot, not the blanket. If he kicked it off, he would feel freezing cold. _It's like a fever, _he reminded himself as he curled in on himself, _Just imagine it's a fever. You just sweat it out. _

**"Or, you ****_could_**** just get more fucking heroin. You know you want to, you slut. You would probably give up your ass just for some more heroin. I can just see it now, you cock-hungry little ****_whore_****. You're a disgusting reprobate. You ****_deserve_**** this." **

He groaned and flipped over, feeling so uncomfortable. His fantasies and hallucinations; caused by the insomnia he was experiencing, were annoying the shit out of him. They kept taking one form and one form only; and that form just made everything all the worse, from those piercing purple eyes to those overlong silvery locks and that cocky smile and that amused tilt in the vulgar words—he forced himself to stop. No. He was better than this. He had to be.

"Get away from me," he whimpered, pulling the overly hot blanket over his head. "Stay away from me. Haven't you fucked with my life enough already? How much more can you possibly do to me?"

The apparition of Hidan in his head smirked as he lifted the blanket, slipping underneath it and gave Shikamaru a wink as he rubbed Shikamaru's thin thigh. **"Oh, babe, don't you know me by now?"** he asked mischievously as he leaned in, pecking Shikamaru's lips as he said, **"Don't you know by now that you deserve this? ****_All_**** of this? I told you already that you're disgusting, and that I hated every moment of our time together, Shikamaru. You are a shitty little ****_slut_**** who deserves ****_nothing less_****." **

"Leave me alone!" screamed Shikamaru as he pushed himself out of the bed, landing painfully onto his side on the hardwood floor. Every muscle seemed to be aching, but that didn't matter to him as he pushed himself into a corner, nearly ripping at his hair as he grabbed it in his tight grip. He closed his eyes tight, rocking back and forth. He felt crazy. Too crazy for words to describe. Had the drugs been pushing this away? Had they been preventing this? Because he'd never felt this way before. He'd never seen Hidan in his head. He never pictured Hidan's face near him. He'd never heard this maniacal laughter of his in his head, and yet—it was there. And it was driving him up the walls with fear and insanity. "Just leave me the fuck alone! Why can't you stop torturing me?! Why can't you leave me alone, Hidan?! Wasn't once enough for you?! _Wasn't it enough, you sick bastard?!_"

Hands grabbed his arms, hands too big to be Hidan's. He whimpered and immediately pushed himself into the warm body, his entire frame shaking with fear and shame and a need for drugs. The same hands ran through his tangled, wiry mess that he called hair, too rough for his liking usually but right now he just couldn't give a shit. He was being held gently, being held with more care than he'd been held in months. It didn't matter to him who. It didn't matter to him if he thought he deserved it. It didn't matter that Hidan was running rampant in his head.

Someone was there, there for him.

He wasn't alone.

_That_, he decided, _is what matters._

* * *

"Mr. Ōgama!"

Hidan snapped into consciousness, sitting up on the filthy couch with bleary eyes, staring at the door as if it had done something to offend him, though he was conscious enough to know that it wasn't the door as so much as the thing past the door. Growling, he picked up the pillow beside him, holding it tight in his grip and then slamming it onto his face, smothering the rest of his growl. Why he did that, he didn't know—his usual reaction in this sort of situation should have been to throw the damned dirty thing, not bury his face in the smelly depths of it.

But, looking back at it, he was sort of happy he did. Why? Because of the next words spoken, which were:

"Mr. Ōgama, _this is the police_! Open the _fucking_ door!"

Now, when Hidan had been coming back to town, his intent was to go clean. He was going to be sober again, and he was going to get his shambled-up life back under control. He was going to get back his life, he was going to get back himself, and most importantly, he was going to get back his Shikamaru. That was his plan, and truly his only intent when coming back.

Of course, this rarely is the way things happen.

What really happened was, as soon as he stepped off that train and got his few things, armed with the money he'd earned from selling that piece-of-shit car and a few of his clothing items (scraping together somehow ten thousand dollars, enough for the down payment on a small apartment and at least two weeks of food until he got a job, maybe a motel for a few nights while looking for an apartment if he didn't want to stay with friends) was that he went to go buy more cocaine. How he knew where to buy, he didn't know. Did he develop some sort of radar? Was he that addicted that his body could somehow sense the powdered drug? He wasn't sure. Fact remained that he did find some, with a drug dealer he used to frequent for weed by the name of Danzō, who'd actually gotten pretty fuckin' big.

He had managed to find a hotel room, but between random hookups and obvious signs of drugs, he was pretty sure that sometime, he'd get caught, and he'd get the cops called on his ass—the owner didn't seem to lenient towards that kind of thing, but honestly, he hadn't cared. He just needed the drugs. He truly needed the drugs.

And, besides—maybe if he got arrested, he could go clean.

In that laid Hidan's biggest issue now: now that the cops were here, at his front door of this crappy hotel, he didn't want to be arrested. Suddenly the idea of going to prison to get clean didn't seem so attractive anymore. He was, in a word, scared. He was scared to death of the idea of being in prison—not that he couldn't handle it, persay, but really; who the fuck wants to go to prison? Going to prison makes it harder to get a job. Going to prison and getting in trouble for drugs makes it worse.

He didn't want any of that. Not at all.

Hidan somehow managed to quietly get up, picking up the small glass pipe laying on the scarred surface of the fake wooden coffee table, unconsciously spreading his toes in the green fuzzy carpet in order to optimize balance and minimize noise however possible. Shoving the small pipe into his pocket, he picked his black and red-clouded sweatshirt (which he had gotten upon graduating high school) and shrugged it on, ignoring the zipper and moving straight onto the bedroom, picking up the leather knapsack given to him by Shikamaru as a birthday gift a while back and shoving only what he considered to be important—

Which included several small baggies of coke. It wasn't that he was really excited to bring it and wanted to need it, but the fact was that he did need it, that he did have to bring it, and he could wish all he wanted that he didn't but he did. He was an addict. Of course he needed it. He didn't know how to be himself anymore without it—though this version of himself, he actually hated.

Briefly, in his hectic movement, he wondered if he should simply turn himself in. If he did go to prison, he would undoubtly go clean, that was true. But, again, if he did he would never be able to find a job, and he did remember hearing in school that upon getting out of prison, convicts tend to fall right back into their old habits.

"Hidan Ōgama, one last time, this is the police! Open the door now or we will break it down! We have warrants to search!"

If he wasn't so scared, he honestly would've laughed. Yep, that door was getting broken down alright, but it most definitely wouldn't be by them. Hell, no; he wasn't going to let them in.

He was getting at.

He walked carefully out of the bedroom, fingers twitching from the adrenaline that was starting to take affect, cracking his neck. For a brief second, he wondered if he even still had the upper body strength necessary to break down a door—which he had done, multiple times, in his high school days. But, again, it was a brief second thought, one that took place before he wiped his mind clear. He couldn't think about this. If he thought about it, obviously, he was going to pussy right out.

Now, Hidan is not a small man by any means of the imagination. Short, maybe, but not small. He stood at a height of five-foot-eleven, or one-point-eight meters; making him taller than a lot of people he came across in his life, and weighed now sixty or so kilograms from an orignal seventy-two kilos that he had worked to maintain due to his involvement in football and basketball and (which only his closest friends knew) cosplaying at conventions (most people don't realize it, but to cosplay as a character, specifically as Cole MacGrath, bulking up and gaining muscle mass is a pretty damned good way to go; it helps to fill out the costume more). Hidan was not small. He was not petite. He was muscular, and he was most definitely strong. Not as strong as he used to be, but strong.

Hidan is not tiny.

And when Hidan runs head-first into the door with the only intent to knock it off its hinges, believe that he achieved his needed effect. Sure, yes, he garnered a headache and a throbbing body from it, but that didn't matter. The door was down. The cops were freaking out. And he could run.

Knowing that taking the elevator would be the stupidest thing ever, he immediately went to the fire stairway, sounding off the obnoxious alarm that, if he wasn't so distracted, he probably could hear. However, the fire alarm, at that moment, was the least of his concerns—his concern was to make sure he didn't trip and fall. He didn't have the time to pick himself back up. Didn't have time to even trip. He needed to keep moving.

Running downstairs is probably one of the most impossible things for even the most athletic and built to do. When one skips more than one stair in the down direction, one naturally assumes that you are falling, that you have tripped, and you, out of fear in that moment, stop thinking about it clearly and miss that step you were aiming for—that is what causes you to fall. Fear makes it one of the most impossible—though impossible shouldn't be the word to use. It should be… highly difficult.

So he was happy when he realized, about four stories down, that he could simply slide down the railing instead of running down stairs. He'd always been rather slow, but unlike most people he didn't berate himself for his lack of thought; he mostly thanked himself for even coming up with the thought in the first place.

Thanks to that ingenious idea, he was down in the lobby only two minutes after the thought, so it'd taken him about five minutes, totally. He could hear the officers screaming down at him, but they sounded so little that he knew he was safe—though the knowledge didn't make him stop running. It did, however, allow him to go up to the front desk and sucker-punch the receptionist before high-tailing it right out of the hotel, not even bothering to fit the stupid fucking bill. Jumping and clearing the five long steps that lowered him to street level, he ran down the bumpy and ditched road at top speed, his sweatshirt flapping in the breeze and the knapsack jumping up and down on his back; bare feet slapping almost painfully against pavement—

Fuck. He forgot his Chucks.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he could loop back for them; but then again he did just punch an employee of the hotel while running from the police _and _skipping out on paying for the room he'd been staying in. So maybe it wasn't the best idea. Maybe once he got out of the city he could buy another pair. He wondered for a brief second how long it took for a bounty to be issued on people, having not really learned anything about how skip tracing actually worked in high school.

How long he ran for, he didn't even know, nor did he know how far. To him, one minute he was on some pretty crapola streets. The next, he was running down one of the nicer main roads (on a sidewalk, though; he didn't want to get hit by a fuckin' truck), scaring the locals by barrelling past them like he did. He couldn't even hear the sounds of sirens. He didn't hear a damned thing.

For a moment, he thought he was homefree.

And then he accidentally bumped into someone.

Well, bumping presumes a little bit of violence, no damage done. More accurately, Hidan inadvertantly tackled the poor soul who happened to be coming out of the coffee shop, the both of them falling into a tangled mess of body and legs to the sidewalk, spilling _incredibly _hot coffee all over the both of them, which, when paired with the singing of multiple imaginative swears; made for a funny sight for all those not involved. Thankfully, it was only two people, but still. By the time he figured out completely what happened, each inch of pale skin was turning bright red with mortification.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's fucking hot!" he screamed out.

Okay, so not so much mortification, but half of it was, most definitely.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," said a voice so familiar that Hidan, who had rather bad memory, was mentally cursing about for not being able to conjure up a name to tag along with it. He knew that he _knew _this voice. There was no question whatsoever about that. This voice was one that he hands-down, no question, knew. This person was someone he knew. "I… wait. Hidan? Is that you?"

Hidan's eyes had been on his legs as he tried to untangle himself from the man, but almost immediately his eyes snapped upwards, and all mental capability shorted out past the thoughts of _Asuma_, _cop, _and (of course) _fuck_.

"FUCK!" he screamed out, magenta eyes widening as he, acting on a first instinct, punched Asuma Sarutobi powerfully in the gut (or as powerfully as one could while laying on their punching arm, which was enough to distract Asuma) and finally managing to seperate from the older man and get back to his feet, already running away from the stunned detective.

As a kid, he had memories of attending church with the chain-smoker. He remembered seeing Asuma sitting in the pews, listening half-heartedly to the words the reverend spoke and not understanding why he seemed so… _obliged_ to go to church. He, personally, loved it. Religion was what kept him sane which, when one considered the kind of thing he had to deal with at home, one could understand.

In his youth, he was constantly taking up random jobs at privately owned grocers and stealing money with a group of his friends from the projects so he could survive. His father refused to pay for a damned thing for him, and so he had to do what he had to. He'd almost been caught and arrested once, when he was ten, but Asuma had been nearby and got him out of it just by mentioning his father, who was the city's most well-known reverend.

When Hidan had asked why he had helped him, Asuma merely said that there was no way he could just sit by and let someone who believed in religion as much as Hidan go to juvie. He told him that he wished he still had that kind of devotion, and the closest he could come to getting it back was watching the enthusiastic way in which Hidan conducted himself in church, and that anyone who believed the way he did, anyone who relied of God as much as he did and believed in him as much as he did, was inherently a good person.

Asuma was a good man to Hidan—if it weren't for the fact that he was a copper he wouldn't have punched him. He was devoted where it counted and honestly, Hidan couldn't ask for more from Asuma—at least he believed. It just really sucked that Asuma was a cop, especially right now.

Of course, if he'd been thinking through things completely and logically, he would've realized that Asuma had a thing for sticking his nose in whenever he smelled a misfit. The whole town knew that the Sarutobi had a soft spot for wayward and lost children—he had adopted three of them. Would it really make sense that he, who had known Hidan for now a little more than a decade, would leave him on his own?

No. It doesn't.

So it was no surprise to anyone but Hidan that he chased right after the albino and tackled him to the ground when he caught up to the barefooted runner in an alley, easily pinning the surprised male to the ground and yanking the knapsack off of his back, ripping the straps off of it in the process.

"H-Hey, you fuck; that was a fucking present! Who the fuck do you think you are, cunt?!"

"Detective Asuma Sarutobi," Asuma sighed on instinct, unintentionally making Hidan flinch and freeze up. Asuma sat on the small of Hidan's back, his weight making Hidan yelp out in pain and discomfort which, again, Asuma didn't notice in favor of turning the bag out, allowing every item to hit the wet, dirty ground of the filthy alleyway. Asuma's eyes widened in shock not to see the presence of marijuana—he always had a hunch that he and Shikamaru had been smoking when they were younger, before they left town—but to see the powered substance, wrapped tightly in cellophane, that he automatically knew to be cocaine. "What the fuck?"

"Shit," Hidan cussed, his forehead hitting the ground as he gave up struggling.

Asuma looked from the drugs to the struggling man underneath him, eyes filled with worry. His mind quickly came up with questions to be asked of Hidan, flashing with scenarios and ideas and estimations of what could happen. If it were someone else, he would've arrested them—a bias, he knew, but he _knew _this man—no, this kid. Hidan would always be that ten-year-old who studied the bible better than he studied class notes. All he could see was that skinny beanpole of a boy that Hidan used to be, with the wide purple eyes and messy head of silver hair. He could see this person right now; he was just lost.

Asuma rubbed his mouth for a moment before standing up, grabbing Hidan by his hoodie and moving around the items of the newly-vacated bag with the toe of his worn engineer's boot, pushing aside the drugs and staring at the other objects—an amulet of a triangle within a circle, a Cross of Christ, what was obviously his wallet, a half-finished pack of LifeSavers Gummies, a pack of cigarettes, a pocket knife, and a loose, frayed picture of a… sleeping Shikamaru?

Wait, was Shikamaru fucking naked in that picture?

Asuma crouched down, picking up the picture and holding it close to his face, staring at the image of his godson immortalized on Polaroid. His long hair was loose; some strands touching the top of his shoulders. One hand was pressed into the mattress, fingers splayed open wide; his pinky resting on top of the dark blue comforter that hid him (for the most part) from the chest down. His face was obviously calm, content; his cheeks rosy and his hairline slightly sweaty—from what, Asuma didn't want to even think about. What had happened before the picture didn't matter to Asuma—the fact that there even _was _a picture in the first place was what mattered to him.

Had Hidan and Shikamaru been… a couple? The idea had never occured to him, honestly. Hidan and Shikamaru were opposites in every way—Shikamaru, for one, was completely and totally for learning things, whereas Hidan liked to have fun instead. For another thing, Shikamaru was completely and totally sane… whereas with Hidan sanity was questionable. Beyond that, Hidan liked physical activity and fighting and danger and believing in God and _only _one God, and believed all the stories of the bible he'd read—and _Shikamaru_ liked to look up at clouds and sleeping and was a proclaimed pantheist. To be honest, when his godson became friends with Hidan, he'd been sure they had nothing to speak of.

Well, this photo proved that wrong.

"Get up," he said softly, letting go of Hidan and stuffing the Polariod into his jacket pocket. "Pick up your things. We're going for a ride."

"Fuck—I can't be fucking arrested! This can't be fucking happening-!" Asuma was sure Hidan might've continued speaking without thinking, like a moron that he really could be, and so he cut him off—quickly—by smacking him in the back of the head. Hidan grabbed at his head, not turning around to face the semi-smug, though mostly disappointed and surprised face of Asuma. "Stupid bastard, that fucking hurt!"

"It did its job, then. You really need to learn to shut up sometimes, Hidan. That mouth of yours really is going to get you in trouble someday. Now shut the fuck up and stand up. I said we're going for a ride, not that I'm arresting you. Get your stuff."

Now Hidan turned around, magenta eyes glazed over with thought. "You're not arresting me?"

"Not if I can help it." Asuma sighed. "Though, I don't suggest you run."

Hidan's eyes hardened. "And just why the hell not?"

"One, I'll catch you. Two, whoever you were more than likely running from before will catch you. And three, if you run, you'll have lost the picture of Shikamaru you had in your bag." Hidan blinked before lunging at Asuma, attempting to take him by surprise but failing miserably. Asuma pushed him away quickly before getting up, turning on the balls of his feet and walking away from the angry religious nut.

* * *

"Sasuke! I almost thought you weren't going to pick up your damned motherfucking phone!"

Sasuke winced audibly into the reciever, his ear drum throbbing terribly from the high-pitched voice of the caller contacting him. Briefly, Fugaku looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing. Truth be told, he wasn't sure whether or not to be concerned that Sasuke was seemingly in pain or be pissed that he was even on the phone. Considering his current state of punishment, however, the latter seemed preferable.

Picking up the role of father (which he often forgot about due to a lack of times to be a real father; he was more often than not out of the house and leaving Sasuke by himself anyways), he decided to exercise his natural right to boss his son around. "You're grounded. Why are you on the phone? Hang it up, Sasuke, now," he ordered.

Sasuke gave him a blank stare for a moment while the person over the phone continued to natter on in his right ear, his excited tone heard by Fugaku where he sat across the large kitchen at what used to be the dining table but had been converted to an oversized desk without drawers for the plethora of cases Fugaku seemed to be given in an endless amount. Sasuke stood by the fridge, having been searching through it when the phone had rang and, since Fugaku was immersed in work, had been the only one to hear it.

Of course, he kind of wished he ignored it—it was Suigetsu, after all—but then again, if he'd left a message, then Fugaku might know of his quasi-plot to skip out Friday to go to a high school party that Suigetsu was begging him to attend, and he really didn't need his father to assume he was hitting on or even fucking underaged girls. Firstly, girls weren't really his interest. Secondly, if he were interested in girls, he'd have to be a fucking moron to sleep with jailbait. He was not interested in going to jail for statutory rape, no fucking _thanks_.

"Sasuke. Phone. Hang it the fuck up," Fugaku rephrased bluntly.

Still, Sasuke stood there, staring at Fugaku as Suigetsu continued to rattle off facts about the party in his fragile ear, such as hot girls in attendance, hot boys in attendance, dealers showing up, users showing up, et cetera, et cetera. Things that Sasuke supposed he should find important, but honestly couldn't find any need to. Why should he give a fuck about any of them? It wasn't like any of them would inhibit him from getting high tonight. He had a little bit of weed in his sock drawer, and he always brought it along with him to parties just in case dealers didn't come through for him. How he hadn't been caught with as so far, he wasn't sure—cops always did full-body searches, but apparently they didn't bother to check beanies for secret little pockets.

While Sasuke continued on with his mental rant, Fugaku's icy stare turned into more of heated glare, growing more and more frustrated with Sasuke's lack of response. Yes, he realized that his son was not the most highly talkative of boys—he never really had been, unless he really cared about something, something he inherited from his own side of the family—but this was absolutely ridiculous. He hated being blatantly ignored when he was trying to salvage what was left of what was obviously the tatters of their family, trying to salvage not simply the memory of what was, what was left, but what could be—and what could be was a happy Sasuke.

"_Get off the fucking phone!_" he finally barked, reaching his limit.

Over the phone, Suigetsu winced—a little bit ironic, in Sasuke's opinion, but he didn't say a word. "Damn, your dad's got a pair of lungs on him, eh? Well, I should hang up before he beats your ass, hehe. I'll call you with more details later, Uchiha!"

"Goodbye," he said gruffly, not even waiting for Suigetsu to respond before hanging up the phone, not even breaking eye contact with his father, whose black eyes seemed to flash bloodied red with the anger he felt with being ignored. His father had always been very demanding of attention and respect, and it really did irritate him when people blatantly refused it. Maybe it came with being a former police lieutenant; Sasuke didn't know. What he knew for absolute sure was that his little act would've earned him a yelling at during his younger days. "I apologize."

"No, you don't. You did that on purpose," Fugaku seethed.

Technically true, so Sasuke didn't bother to argue.

"If I were a different parent, Sasuke, I would've beaten you by now," he continued, putting his elbow on top of the papers he'd been working on and pointing at Sasuke with his red ballpoint pen. "People hit their children for a lot less than that." Sasuke raised his eyebrow at that. It wasn't that he didn't doubt the truth behind his father's words; he did. What he was skeptical about the idea of Fugaku not even _touching _him for that. As a child under strict parents, Sasuke had gotten his share of punishments—hits with a belt to his ass, smacks on the hand for smart-ass comments—they didn't really hurt, but they had done the job well he figured since he remembered being scared to death when his mother pulled a hairbrush out whenever he did something naughty. This, in his youth, would've earned him at least ten of those hits, as well as being forced to kneel on dry rice for a minute.

"I apologize, Daddy," he decided to say, but this time it came out with a sarcastic tint. He really wasn't sure what obliged him to speak like that, especially whilst in trouble right now, but it was out and he really couldn't pull it back—all he could do, seemingly, was keep talking. All his frustrations just seemed to pour to the forefront as he vented them all on Fugaku, who in the grand scheme of things was really just trying to do right by him. "I didn't realize you were that amazing and lenient of a father. You must've won the award. It's a shame you've got no one to share it with besides a fuck-up like me, because apparently all those worthwhile up and left you all fucking alone."

Now, when in trouble, some people naturally find that time is deadly slow one minute and then life-threatening fast in the next instant. Something about being found in the middle of a troubling situation makes time all uneven, and Sasuke was no exception to this rule. Though it had really been a few short words, Fugaku's angry pseudo-speech seemed like the lengthiest thing he'd ever heard before in his life, and he had sat through a three-hour speech about the negative effects of drinking and driving at several school assemblies. Sasuke did honestly dislike pissing off his father, but he really wasn't sure how else to act anymore towards him. Normality was off.

And time sped up.

It sped up so quickly that he didn't see Fugaku's veins throb in his temple. He didn't see him jump out of his chair. He didn't hear the clatter of the wooden chair against the ground. He didn't even see the movement of Fugaku's fist as it reared back. Well, actually, that wasn't true. He did see all those things, all in the same moment, before Fugaku's clenched fist connected with his cheek, a flash of hot pain running through his face as he fell to the ground, his temple crashing against the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

And then time got suspended again.

Though he logistically knew that it'd only been a few short moments, the silence seemed to bore on forever as he looked at his father, whose eyes widened with realization of what he'd done. There were punishments, and then there was a hate-filled punch—which was what that felt like, to Sasuke. His father didn't just dislike this person he was; he _hated_ him for it. He hated everything he was. He felt like a burden, felt like a disease. A fungus. Mold on the damp inner shower wall; something disgusting and irritating that, no matter how many times it got sprayed with Tilex, just didn't seem to die, whereas so many other things in their world was so fragile that it'd all been lost.

He knew that his relationship with his father was fucked, but he didn't realize how fucked he'd forced it to become.

Fugaku opened his mouth to speak, but Sasuke didn't want to hear any of the words. Getting to his feet in a flash, he darted out of the kitchen, out of the apartment; thankful he'd been wearing his Doc's before he ran, arms pumping at his sides powerfully, onyx eyes stuck on nothing but the sidewalk in front of him, and then on the street in front of him; his ears closing off all sounds that even remotely sounded like his name in Fugaku's deep voice. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't hear it.

He hated it all. He hated himself. He became something disgusting, something evil, and for the life of him he didn't know what to do about it, how to even change it. He was stuck; stuck as this shade of himself. He was a reprobate. A thorn in his father's side.

"_SASUKE!_"

* * *

_"'__If only, if only,' the woodpecker sighs, 'The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies'… why so quiet tonight, baby boy? Why aren't you singing along tonight?"_

As always with one of Kiba's dreams, the face of the woman singing to him was murky and unclear. Squinting his hypnosis-state eyes, he tried to define a detail—any detail—but found himself falling short. He always fell short, so why he still tried to see the face he didn't even know, but it felt so important that he tried regardless. He reached out his 'hand' to grab her, to touch even the slightest bit of her, but as per usual, he was just out of reach, just a finger's breadth away from being able to feel that person who exerted such an aura of love towards him.

Love was something that Kiba had a bounty of and showed way too much of, and expected so little in return that he always found himself stunned by the unconditional love that this woman—or girl; he couldn't tell which—was unafraid to show to him. It was the same way he felt when he'd first met Kurenai and Asuma and Gaara and Kankurō—such a surprising amount of love that he did nothing to deserve. He was happy to receive it, happy to still be receiving it; but he couldn't help but be stunned by the kindness.

_"__What's this, hmm, little one? Did you forget the words to the song, my dearest little _Adelfos_? Don't worry. I'm here, so you don't have to remember unless you want to. I'll always be here." _

That was nice, but not what Kiba wanted.

He knew the words to the song. He knew the entire thing. He could sing it back and forth in his sleep for hours on end. Knowing the song was not the problem. The problem was remembering the person behind the enchanting verses of such a gentle lullaby. The problem was remembering the face of the one person his mind struggled so badly to remember but couldn't. It wouldn't. Why, he didn't know, nor did he even understand. He wanted to know. He wanted to remember. He wanted to see that face and remember the beginnings of his childhood—the best part of his childhood.

He wanted to grasp onto her and simply hold on for dear life. If he could, he would drag her out of the depths of his memory into this plane so he wouldn't have the pain of not remembering her anymore. He would bring her forth so he could hear that lovely voice sing those beautifully enchanting lyrics to him again.

"_'__If only, if only,' the woodpecker sighs, 'The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.' While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, crying to the moo-oo-oon…"_

"_'__If only, if only,'_" Kiba sighed as he opened his eyes, looking into the patient red eyes of Kurenai, a woman he considered to be his mother as she was the only mother he could remember. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown locks, biting into his bottom lip as he shook his head. Kurenai's eyes softened more, if one could really believe that, and moved closer to the teenager on the couch, softly rubbing his cheek with her warm thumb. Craving physical contact, Kiba nuzzled his face into her hand, closing his eyes as he focused on his breath, trying to keep from crying to himself in agony.

"Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?" she asked him softly.

"No," he said in a soft, semi-broken voice. He didn't find use in repeating the same damned thing all the time. There could be not much of a differentiation with what he could describe: in the memory—or dream, whatever it was—he was laying down in a bed, a bed with a furry blanket over his body, covered by a light green comforter. The walls were pale yellow, a simple and straight color marred by random hand prints that he'd done in what he figured to be acrylic paint. A pile of toys, simply pushed off to the side of the dusty floor, was bunched up in a corner next to his small closet, and a broken, duct-taped TV sat on the dresser right next to his bed. The window had been open, a breeze drifting through the opened space and making the pale green curtains billow like Superman's cape. And—speaking of the caped Kryptonian—a large Superman poster hung on the wall right above his head, the giant 'S' for hope the most prominent feature in his mind. The room wasn't too big, nor to small—perfect for a child, which, in his dream he still was.

It was obviously before he wasn't allowed to be a child anymore.

They were the days he couldn't remember; happy childhood days. He couldn't remember anything but that bedroom and that song, that song that was supposed to be a beacon of something but he couldn't never figure out quite what it was supposed to mean. Whatever it meant, it couldn't be hope. That song hadn't gotten him out. What had gotten him out was sheer dumb luck and that was it. That was all there was to it.

He pulled his head away from her now, bringing his knees into his chest. Every pair of jeans had tears in the knees. He didn't buy them like that, and he sure wouldn't have them like that if he had a choice. One or two pairs, fine. Not every pair. He really hated that he ripped up his jeans so badly, because he knew Kurenai and Asuma spent a lot of money trying to give him good clothing. He hated that it seemed like he didn't appreciate it. But honestly, with the amount of running he had to do per day, he really didn't have a choice in the matter. It was either run and trip and rip them anyways while skinning his knee or run and trip and simply skin knee. Skinning knee seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

Kurenai ghosted her fingertips over the boy's scarred kneecaps, pain showing in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"'S not your fault," he mumbled. Really. It wasn't. They couldn't predict that teenagers seemed to just smell how weak and stupid and vulnerable he was.

"Do you want to transfer to another school? Do you want someone to come in and get them to stop?" Kurenai continued.

Oh, yeah, and make everything worse. That sounded amazing.

"'S not worth it. I've only got a year left anyways. Maybe they'll leave me alone," he lied through his teeth. He could hear the bullshit all too well. These kids hadn't left him alone in the seventh grade, when he first transferred into the district. They didn't leave him alone in ninth, when he went to a high school that as few people as possible from middle school went to. They didn't leave him alone when he transferred during sophomore year. Bullies may change face, but the torment was always the same. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't have a friend in the school. Yeah, sure, Shino was odd—really freaking _odd_—but he was a good friend, and as an added bonus, he was over a lot because his dad worked with Asuma at the station—though his dad was really in forensics and not really a detective like Asuma.

"Shino told me that they tried to hurt you during gym," Kurenai said.

Damned that aforementioned best friend. "Not bad, Mom."

"You went to the nurse."

"Gym is a very dangerous activity."

"Really? Because I don't know that many kids who get hurt during a sit-down testing period," Kurenai deadpanned, "Believe it or not, Kibbles, I do know what goes on during your school day. I'm not just the therapist adoptive mother." Kurenai sighed, running a hand through her curls. "Kiba, I'm not trying to patronize you. I simply worry about you. I want you to be happy, as happy as possible."

"I'm fine, Mom," he half-begged.

"Kiba…"

"Mom, I _swear_." He really hated it when Kurenai worried. It made him feel even worse about himself, for not being able to make these kids just leave him alone. Not that he couldn't do it, but he didn't want anyone to go to the hospital. He didn't want anyone to get hurt just because he couldn't handle a bunch of bullies. "I would tell you." His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he squirmed. "Can I go upstairs? I think Shino's on chat."

Kurenai stared at Kiba for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Go ahead. But when Asuma gets home, I can't promise I won't bring up the subject again. This really is concerning, sweet."

Kiba nodded, uncurling himself and jumping from the couch, nearly tripping on the end table as he ran up the stairs, kicking off his slip-on Vans as he stepped, picking them up and carrying them into the bedroom he'd taken over. The house was only three bedrooms, and so he'd bunked with Kankurō and Gaara while the other room remained a guest bedroom, the last obviously being Kurenai and Asuma's bedroom. The three boys had decided on a uniform color of a darker sort of maroon for the walls, with a darker cream for the curtains forced upon them by Kurenai. A bunk bed was shoved up against the wall furthest from the door, the window right next to it, the slide-open closet on the wall of the headboard. Posters and magazine cutouts of bands and skaters lined the walls visible in the lower bunk, signifying easily the owner of that piece of the room. A small desk sat beside the singles bed, a cheap black backless chair sitting in front of it, a Macbook Air sitting on top of the wooden surface.

Kiba had no real need for more than one bed, and briefly he had considered getting rid of it, but once in a blue moon Gaara or Kankurō, or even both, stayed over, having overstuffed themselves on Kurenai's cooking and lacking the energy necessary to drag themselves back to an apartment that they both actively tried to keep him away from—why, he had no idea.

Sliding into the desk chair, he opened his laptop, turning it on and plugging it in with a practiced air while pulling his vibrating iPhone out of his pocket. He was right, Shino had been messaging him; but it definitely was not on chat like he'd told Kurenai it was—rather, Shino was iMessaging him, telling him to check his Facebook again. Why he'd created the damned thing, he didn't know, but occasionally he did find some people on there who he didn't mind instant messaging—though those same people, in the real world, either ignored him or punched him when they saw him.

Pulling up Safari rather easily, he logged quickly onto his Facebook page, his notifications already through the roof at forty-eight, none of which he wanted to see but had to make sure were deleted before Asuma did his routine check-up of his page to make sure he didn't curse or do anything to make colleges want to see less of him. The last thing he wanted was Asuma, a cop, knowing that people were bullying him online. Honestly, it wasn't all that bad—okay, no, that was a lie; he knew it wasn't a good thing and it really did make him feel like shit—but he knew that Asuma would try to rip off heads, and the last thing he wanted was to make someone as nice as Asuma murderous.

Ryōta Kenpachi posted on your timeline: "I wonder how much I have to pay you to suck my cock, Kiba. I wonder if you're as cheap as everyone says you are lol… I hear you suck cock really good, better than the girls. Guess that makes you a bigger slut than any girl could ever be. Ever thought of prostitution, Kiba? I think it'd suit you really well lmfao."

48 people like Ryōta Kenpachi's post on your timeline: "I wonder…".

He really didn't remember ever friending _anyone_ named Ryōta, but he was fully aware that more than likely someone had hacked his account again and randomly added multiple people after he'd gone on an unfriending spree two weeks ago. He knew it was no coincidence that the night after he unfriended more than twenty of his thirty-something Facebook friends that someone stole his iPod and returned it with a full factory reset, making him lose his playlists.

Shino Aburame commented on the post on your wall: "Next person who comments in a negative way about Kiba is getting bludgeoned by me first thing in the fucking morning. Why? Because this pisses me the fuck off."

He really did have a good friend.

Sakura Haruno commented on the post on your wall: "i agree w shino! leve kiba alne! priks! wtf is wron dont evn kno kiba!"

The lack of grammar and regard to spelling was atrocious, but the effort put forth by Sakura was definitely appreciated. They didn't really know each other all that well—he sat behind her in AP Calculus and next to her in AP Psychology—but she was nice enough to him. They sometimes messaged each other on Facebook, and she was genuinely nice there, too. He would have to remember to thank her yet again for being so nice to him although most of her friends hated his guts.

*ROCKLEE* commented on the post on your wall: "THIS IS NOT VERY YOUTHFUL OF YOU AT ALL! I REQUEST THAT YOU LEAVE THE FOREVER YOUTHFUL AND BEAUTIFUL KIBA ALONE! P S Sakura I love you."

At that, he snickered. The Maito Gai mini-me that had graduated last year was very much like that in real life. The essence of Lee simply radiated through the comment—especially when Sakura commented in response to Lee with a picture of someone projectile vomiting onto a poor old woman in a motorized wheelchair.

Okay, so all and all, it wasn't as bad as it could be, sans a few comments that really were like a punch to the gut for him, as well as the number of likes the post had gotten, the complete list of people he could see when he clicked the hyperlink (which he didn't want to do but couldn't resist doing, seeing nothing but the expected usual people who tormented him regardless). Sighing in unhappiness, he deleted the post without commenting on it, instead shooting his thank-you messages to the three who had bothered to defend him, all of whom said that his thanks were unnecessary and that he was a good kid, a good person, and he didn't deserve all these things that people said about him without even knowing him.

Of course, he didn't believe them, but that was his own fault, really.

His master had told him he was a bad boy for such a long time, after all, and that was a really hard one to simply stop believing.

"If only, if only," he sighed to himself.

* * *

**MS Word did NOT like the Kiba scene. It refused to let me copy-and-paste its entirety in here one time - I had to do it in sections, and even then, I had to retype the last three paragraphs. Lol, not really fun for me considering I literally just wrote this fifteen minutes ago, but... whatever... it's cool I guess..**

**LOL I apologize for the wait between chapters! I got so caught up with my other story... but I got real motivation for this at school, well, actually, on the bus ride home with a friend of mine who shall remain anonymous... we were talking about this prick we know that's dating one of our best friends... he's really not a good guy, and we both dislike him... and I felt bad for saying it behind his back that I dislike him even though he is typically nice to me (we talk a lot about Naruto, and he is a good artist and has the capacity to be a good person, but he really is a terrible boyfriend to my friend and I hate how he treats her and that's as far into this rant as I am getting). Anyways, I felt bad for talking about him behind his back and I really did feel like a bully in that moment, so that inspired the Kiba part (somewhat-ly). **

**IDK why I'm so talkative today. Maybe it's because I feel like shit because I caught a cold -_-# . Or maybe it's because I just ate a bunch of instant miso soup to make myself feel better (miso is my favorite soup). Or maybe it's because I hadn't talked to my friend in such a long time and though the topic wasn't happy, I was glad to catch up with him. I really don't know. But thanks for sticking with my rants. **

**So, credits: "Been to Hell" by Hollywood Undead for the lyrics, from the album 'American Tragedy'.**

**"If Only, If Only", the lullaby sung by Stanley Yelnats in Louis Sachar's Holes. Holes is one of my favorite books for the type of friendship that Stanley and Zero developed... it made me cry. I even love the Disney version of the book, though I really wish they'd stuck closer to the book and picked an overweight kid to play Stanley, though Shia LaBeouf did do a decent job at bringing Stanley's character to life. **

**OH - I nearly went and forgot the thank-you's! How stupid of me xP**

_**To the Guest: Don't worry, I got you x) I like stories like that, too! This is my first time writing one though... I hope this lives up to expectations whilst blowing you all away! And thank you for liking this... it means so much to me!**_

_**To Ayrmed: When I realized you were the same author of Love's Never Easy, I squealed like a little girl xP I am unashamed of myself lol. I'm glad you still see the characters of Naruto in this... right now, Kiba's slightly OOC with some parts of this (not all) but it will fade with the exposure he's going to get. **_

_**To jt09: When I got notification of your review, I was really upset over some stupid shit that was happening with some of my friends... and then I read it... and I don't think I've EVER smiled so widely at a review before in my life. Your review, to me, was the best thing I've ever read (I love all reviews, but words cannot express this one) and I THANK YOU so much for writing it. I'm glad that you think I've caught the essence that is Sasuke Uchiha, and I'm also glad to know that people are, in fact, interested in what Itachi's last words were... I will do my best to convey everything that is this story, and trust me when I say that I fully intend on making this end happily, if it's the last thing I do! x) I hope you enjoyed the other few chapters... I really have to get around to posting it on AdultFanFiction, but I really have not thought about it at all because I love this site that much :P**_

**Thanks for reading! As always, I do not own Naruto! **


	7. We Can't Move Along Without Pain

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

"So a day when you've lost yourself completely  
Could be a night when your life _ends_.  
Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving.  
All the pain held in your  
Hands are shaking cold... your hands are _mine_ to hold...  
_**SPEAK** TO **ME**!_  
When all you got to _keep_ is _strong_,  
Move along, move along like I _know_ you do!  
And even when your **hope** is **gone**;  
Move along, move along _just to make it through_!_" _

* * *

Naruto hadn't been a popular kid at school in his youth.

When he had been younger, in elementary school; he'd long since gotten used to the idea that he was always a little bit odder than the norm. His dad was a quiet guy who basically allowed his mom free rein, and she was a chaotic force to be reckoned with; and when paired with Iruka's rather mother-hen ways, Naruto had developed a slightly smothering and over-enthusiastic way of trying to get to know his peers, efforts which had gotten himself rebuked by a majority of them at school—they didn't want to get to know 'the weird blond'.

During the school day, Naruto was always alone. He was ostracized. No one wanted to be friends with Kushina Uzumaki's hyperactive son—their parents were afraid of her, and not even having Minato Namikaze as a father helped his case any. When his mom found out about that, she hadn't been able to withhold her anger—or her tears. He'd never been so mad at himself for having done what he always did—tell his mom the truth.

The day he met his first friend, he'd been sitting alone one day, waiting for Iruka to come and pick him up from school.

Ever since he started going to school, he took the bus to the building and then Iruka—big brother Iruka—would pick him up. Before, Iruka had gone to the middle/high school an hour away. At the time, this one in particular; he went to a college that was actually only twenty minutes away from Naruto's school, and he even had a little bit of extra time to dawdle sometimes because of his hours. From there, the two boys would catch the public bus at the stop five minutes away or walk to the town square and get ramen at a place that his father had introduced them to, called Ichiraku Ramen Shop, run by the nicest old man and his pretty daughter. It was a tradition amongst the two of them to go at least twice a month, on a Friday. They would sit in a booth at the restaurant for two hours, allowing them both to do their homework (well, really, just Naruto, because he would always need help and Iruka would always help out the littler boy) without them having to worry about helping their mother around the house—her sickness had been starting to show, even back then, now that Naruto had realized it.

Naruto had been really looking forwards to it. He'd had a really bad day at school—some kids made fun of him because he looked a bit more effeminate than the other boys, even a little more than some of the girls. They had poured a bunch of undercooked spaghetti over his head—thankfully _without_ the tomato sauce—and began calling him 'Naruko'. There were a couple of kids who seemed annoyed by it, but he really hadn't noticed it. Being teased like that really upset him—which, looking back at it, he felt was really petty because at least they were calling him a physical beauty.

Either way, he'd had a shitty day, and Naruto was really excited for it, but… Iruka was late.

Naruto sat outside on the front step for twenty minutes by himself, arms wrapped around his body as he shivered against the cold. Fall had lasted really long that year, really held tough; but winter had reared its ugly head and slammed its hand down over the land, and Naruto—being atypically Naruto—had left his coat at home, and his sweater had been cut up by a bunch of boys during recess. Left only with a light blue and jelly-stained polo shirt, Naruto tried to curl in on himself, all the while not noticing the softball aimed his way until it had hit him square in the forehead.

He'd yelped out in both frustration and anger, but mostly surprise; stunned that someone would throw something at him _outside_ the classroom. Really, hadn't he earned the right to be left alone when he was sitting by himself, not bothering anyone, cold and worried and tired and alone? Tears threatened to burst from his eyes, angry and upset at the same time. He could hear the cajoles from here, and they were just making it worse.

And then he heard it.

"Fuck off."

To be honest, when one thinks about it, while the words sounded effortless and all-around cool; it definitely was threatening when it was spewed from the mouth of what was obviously a child, judging by the tone of voice that the words had been spoken in. It definitely drew Naruto's attention away from his lap, away from his tears; and up, up to the back of a boy with the same colored shirt as him (which made sense; it was uniform) and a book bag with a weird-looking fan keychain hanging off of it. He stood in front of Naruto, hands fisted in defiance as he looked at the remaining children in the schoolyard; their faces reflecting easily to Naruto how fearful they were of the commanding presence the boy seemed to possess. Even Naruto was afraid to say anything, and Naruto was (hopefully) the one being protected in this case.

The boy turned from them all, showing Naruto him deep black eyes. Why those eyes were the first thing that Naruto noticed, he honestly wasn't sure. But, those eyes… they were amazing. He hadn't realized how much emotions that eyes really did contain, but they showed so much, even when that stoic face of his—which he vaguely recognized—but those eyes showed so much, so much that couldn't be hid.

He found that even since then, Naruto always knew what Sasuke was thinking just by looking into his eyes. It was something amazing and only particular to him—Sasuke was closeted off to everyone else but him, it seemed. Nothing could be hidden from him. Sasuke just didn't hide. He couldn't hide his emotions from Naruto, ever, not as much as he could try, and oddly, Sasuke didn't mind. He didn't mind that Naruto just knew him more in depth than everyone else, even more than Itachi could. In fact, he welcomed it. He welcomed the brotherhood that came with being Naruto's best friend. The added family was welcomed. The added love was welcome. The added sanctuary was welcome.

The thing was, even though Naruto knew Sasuke's emotions, knew the person he was, and could still manage to find himself not simply surprised by some of the things Sasuke could do in the spur-of-the-moment, but completely stunned—and it wasn't something anyone could estimate for.

When Naruto had been ordered by his father to take the rest of the day off by his father, he decided to text Iruka for a grocery list. He wasn't exactly keen to go home, what with the lack of friends or family that would allow him to fall into the depths of his memories, exactly where he didn't want to be. Of course, there was only so much time Naruto could spend at the store—especially the grocery store—and so only an hour and a half after leaving work he found himself walking upstairs, only to find the biggest surprise of the past few months of his life: Sasuke.

Naruto stumbled up the step upon seeing a sweaty Sasuke Uchiha sitting at his door, nearly dropping the milk—thankfully, he grabbed it, but cursed so much that Sasuke automatically looked up from his feet, brows furrowed in confusion as he took in the sight of the blond fighting to keep the newly-bought groceries from hitting the floor.

Sasuke didn't twitch as Naruto kept every item from falling, his chest still heaving, up and down; as he tried to catch breath back. He could see plainly, even as he gathered all his newly-purchased food that Sasuke had been running from something. He'd done that a couple of times when they were younger, when Itachi was dying. Naruto would do the same with him—running out the door when talking with Iruka and his father just wasn't enough, when he needed to just eat a bunch of Easy Mac stored up in the top of the cupboard in Sasuke's house.

Finally picking himself up completely, he looked completely at the worse-for-wear Uchiha sitting at his doorstep. Looking at Sasuke now was like looking at the past Sasuke through a dirty, cracked mirror; a mirror that was cutting him too. He looked like absolute shit, with the ripped up band t-shirt, ratty old holey woolen black sweater, overly worn blue jeans with random stains at the pockets. His nails were bitten down to the nub, chipped back polish covering the very center of his nail, which seemed to only emphasize the scabs he had covering his fingertips from biting and ripping at hangnails and pieces of loose skin, as well as from biting into skin while chewing at his nails. Sasuke's lower lip was chewed to shit, red and raw and still bleeding in places, which explained why his tongue flicked out from between the two sensitive pieces of skin every few seconds. Sasuke's already pale skin was even paler than he remembered, with the exception of his red cheeks, which were that way purely from the amount of running he'd probably done, assuming he'd been coming from his house. Stubble was developing on his face; showing Naruto that Sasuke could grow actually a rather amazing beard, which even without maintenance it would be, going on the state of his hair, which was always silky and soft and simply _styled _the way it just was. Even from where he was, Naruto could smell the residing scent of weed—making him wonder how often Sasuke was smoking if a large percentage of his clothes smelled like weed even after washing it.

"What are you doing here?" Naruto asked in what was almost a whisper.

Sasuke stared back at him for a moment before shrugging. "I just did. I don't think I thought about anything."

"That's the first time I've heard you say that sentence. Might be the last. Wish I'd thought to record it. My memory of the statement will simply have to do for now," Naruto sighed as Sasuke pushed himself up to his feet. Moving on without a stutter in his step, he shoved the groceries into Sasuke's stomach without a warning—Sasuke was quick enough to wrap his arms the bag for the blond. Tugging the house keys out of the old and tearing Pantera sweatshirt he still insisted upon wearing, he quickly and efficiently opened up the door, opening wide as to give the Uchiha more obvious invitation into his house.

"Just like that?" Sasuke asked, his voice holding no emotion, but Naruto could safely assume that he wouldn't ask the question at all if he felt no incredulity.

"Just like that," Naruto responded with a nod as he tossed the keys carelessly onto the mail table, locking the door while the Uchiha moved on to the kitchen, apparently on automatic as he unpacked the groceries for Naruto, slipping them into their places in a kitchen that he'd known the layout of for such a long time. "I don't have Easy Mac."

Sasuke snorted softly, so softly that Naruto almost didn't hear it—an indication that Sasuke really was amused by the statement. "I didn't come for some shitty instant macaroni and cheese, idiot."

"Well, if that's the case," Naruto sighed in tire and uncertainty, "Then you're helping me bake a cake."

The Uchiha rounded the corner, eyebrow rising in surprise at the order he just received from the Uzumaki, who returned the look with a raised blond brow of his own, waiting for the irritated question to exit from between Sasuke's chewed lips. "Excuse me?"

"My dad's birthday is in two weeks, and this year rather than waiting we wanted to celebrate it early because of the shit he's been going through. Iruka thought about baking it, but he really does suck at baking so he ordered one from a local bakery, but it came out looking really bad; so I gave the cake to a coworker and told Iruka I'd bake Dad's cake since Dad put me on required vacation, hence the reason why I bought a dozen eggs and a small bag of flour and a carton of milk. You're here, and I don't know why since we haven't been friends in fucking forever"—Sasuke visibly cringed at that—"but the fact remains that at a time, and even now, I consider you to be a brother of mine. So I'm not gonna chase you away, but I've got shit to do, and you helping me would make my life easier. So, back to the original statement—you're helping me bake a cake. Apron's in the bottom of the knife drawer if you want it."

Sasuke stared at him for a moment. "You're not going to even ask me why I'm here?"

"I know you. I know I can't force you to talk, so I'm not gonna," Naruto said with a careless shrug, ignoring the colleges that had sent him mail as he walked on past Sasuke to the kitchen, pulling the Kitchen Maid mixer out of its corner. "You'll tell me when you wanna tell me." Sasuke stood in his place for longer than Naruto felt comfortable, and Naruto snapped his head up to look at his silent former friend. "Make yourself useful and get my mom's cookbook from the bookshelf in the living room, Sasuke. You know which one it is. C'mon, I have a cake to bake, and only a few hours to do it. Hurry up."

* * *

Shit.

Shit.

Double shit.

Triple shit.

Shit for days.

Did he mention shit?

Fugaku rubbed his forehead in irritation and worry for the umpteenth time, resisting the urge to throw his fist through the drywall once again, somewhat because his fist already hurt from the first time but mostly because he feared that if and when he died and was once again reunited with Mikoto, she would kick his ass up and down the metaphorical street for ruining the paintjob she had spent weeks on doing during the first year of marriage. Mikoto had been rather meticulous with her painting when they bought the house for the family they were looking forwards to starting, picking child-friendly and environmentally safe paints and even going as so far as to make intricate designs. Fugaku, personally, thought it was a bit much for a kitchen, but that was simply the artist in her, and that made her the woman he'd fallen in love with.

Besides, their kids had loved the paint. He remembered that Itachi, when he was still young—only about seven or so—had smacked Sasuke for the first and _only_ time when the two-year-old had taken a crayon to his mother's walls, beating both of his parents to the punch (and having a sobbing Sasuke running surprisingly into the arms of his stunned father, who was usually doing the smacking and Itachi usually doing the catching). And then three years later, when Mikoto tried to get Sasuke to become friends with the neighborhood children, Sasuke had berated the idiot who did the same thing he'd done only a few years before, chasing away the neighborhood kids with his stunningly off-putting and angry personality.

Fugaku sighed in thought of his youngest son, remembering the exact reason his fist had been clenched. Did he regret it? Yes. Of course he did. He didn't like punching Sasuke, and honestly, Sasuke really could've said a hell of a lot worse to him.

But did he think that Sasuke deserved it?

That answer was… yes. Yes, Sasuke did deserve a punch to the face—but not for the reason one might think. No, it wasn't because he pushed the fact that Mikoto and Itachi were dead—that was a fact that he already knew. He punched Sasuke for a rather dimwitted, but valid opinion of his—that Sasuke thought he didn't matter to Fugaku. He punched Sasuke because this was the first moment that Sasuke actually admitted, out loud, that he felt that he wasn't useful, or even worthy of his own life—and that made Fugaku's stomach roll to hear his only living son say such a thing about himself (inadvertently). To him, Sasuke was the remnants of the life he lived, and as the remnants, he wanted to preserve him, to protect him—and Sasuke was too independent to allow that.

He wanted his son back. That was where the statement started and ended. He didn't want this little bastard with an oh-woe-is-me complex and severe depression, as well as obvious alcohol and drug usage problems and propensity towards black nail polish. What he wanted was the Sasuke who was filled with words and opinions, filled with love and knowledge and hardness and everything he was before. He didn't want this Sasuke.

He wanted the boy he knew that he and Itachi and Mikoto raised.

* * *

It wasn't often that Kakashi Hatake smoked, but when he did, it was Marlboro Smooths. Usually, stores carried the Reds and the Menthols, but there was a bodega a good ways away from the station that carried Smooths, which was close enough to what had been the orphanage he used to live in with Minato as a kid that he'd sneak inside the building, go up to the roof, sit on the very edge of the eight-storied building and smoke half of the pack, cigarette after cigarette, as he stared at the city he'd grown up in, banishing all his problems for a short amount of time as he analyzed the places he used to frequent in his days of youth.

The bodega's slot, for instance, used to be something else. It used to be this ramen stand that he'd go to with Minato, Obito and Jiraiya, the orphanage owner and Naruto's late godfather, called Ichiraku Ramen, which since moved to the corner of Wave and Wind streets.

Next door to the orphanage, which was now a well-to-do apartment complex, had been an abandoned house that the kids used to play in all the time for lack of a better place to play.

Where the community garden now stood used to be a large store that he and his friends would run through and cause hell for the shop owner, breaking open cans and shaking up soda bottles and running out with bags of potato chips and expensive candies.

The vacant lot next to it used to be its parking lot, where he and Minato and a bunch of his friends used to play shopping cart racing—the street rat's version of what would now be Mario Kart, since they used to throw banana peels and throw Coke bottles filled with Mentos at each other.

Now, thinking about his childhood wasn't his ideal of a good time per say, but it was most certainly better than thinking about the here and now. Obito found his brother, Tobi, a while ago, and he took Tobi to a mental hospital that he moved near in order to spend time with him. Minato was busy with his own problems with Naruto, who was emotionally like his mother but as closed off as Kakashi himself could sometimes be. Genma went to work at Shikaku Nara's private detective agency and he really only saw him every once in a while. Asuma was still free sometimes, when he wasn't busy dealing with the problems his own children had. Rin had left him, left their apartment, and moved to France to study art.

He envied them. They all had achievements, no matter how tired these achievements made them. Obito was always dealing with Tobi, always helping out his brother, always caring for him, and he was happy doing that. Genma had met his wife through his new job at Shikaku's office, a woman by the name of Shizune. Minato had two sons that had made it very far, despite the hardships they'd gone through. Asuma had a family to call his own, had people who loved him and cared about him. Rin had met the love of her life in her time abroad, according to her Facebook page, and she already had a baby on the way.

And him?

He had nothing.

Nothing except for his job—and now this weird fascination with Hinata Hyūga.

Cursing to himself, he took another drag of his cigarette. He'd come up here to _stop _thinking about her. He'd come up there to ignore his newfound liking for the younger woman—no, girl. To him, she was a girl. He was fourteen years older than her. When she was in diapers, he was going through training to learn how to defend little ones like her. When she was in grade school, he had already killed his first man. They came from two different generations and, worse, two different lives. He was reared from the very same coldness that had ripped away her innocence. Why did he find himself so… invested in her, then? So interested in this fallen angel?

Fuck him, when did she become an angelic being to him? What happened to him simply thinking she was pretty? Well, no, that wasn't true. It hadn't been as simple as that, he knew that already. He hadn't thought she was just pretty. He'd thought she was _perfect_, and now, suddenly… that wasn't enough of a descriptor. Now angelic was what fit, and honestly, he didn't mind the idea of her being an angel.

That was what probably made it worse.

_Fucking hell, she's a child_, he tried to remind himself, berating himself for his perversion and objectification of a girl who was probably half of his age. Couldn't he pick someone else besides her to go nutso about? Not that he was personally ecstatic that he seemed to be lusting after anyone—sex was becoming a bit of a waste of time to him—but this was the worst. He could still remember when she was a toddler, for Chrissakes.

When he was a kid, he, like every other kid he knew, was a fan of manga and anime. Growing up, he used to watch old episodes of _Dragon Ball _and old reruns of _Speed Racer: Mach GoGoGo _and _Space Battleship Yamato_. He used to sit and read Weekly Shōnen Jumps for hours up on this very roof in silent while Minato and Obito, who lived outside the orphanage but close by with his parents and little brother) read the lesser-bought dōjinshis. When he hit his teen years, after he'd left the orphanage and after it'd been abandoned, Minato and Obito were responsible for his introduction to the more pornographic side of manga with the hentai they begun to bring home, featuring school girls and weird fetishes that he really didn't think about until he was shown the graphic novels—specifically, shotacon. He'd never really taken an interest to shotacon because it made him feel like the largest and weirdest pervert to even think about watching the damned thing; thinking about young girls being with older guys.

While technically Hinata was above the age limit, he felt the exact same way about his feelings for her as he did about reading shotacon hentais.

Simply put; a dirty old man.

Sighing, he took a long drag of the Marlboro in his hand currently, almost right down to the filter, and then snuffed it out so he could move swiftly onto the next death stick.

"I fucking suck," he muttered.

"You're not too bad."

If Kakashi was a lesser man, he would've flinched. However, he barely spared a muscle twitch. That didn't mean to say he wasn't surprised—he was. But not surprised enough as to exhibit any really revealing emotion. To be honest, he'd kind of been expecting the interrupting cow behind him.

"Want one?" he asked Minato Namikaze as he sat down on the ledge right next to him, dangling his Doc Martin's off the edge. Despite Minato's age, he'd always managed to retain a look that made him seem like he was still twenty or so, and for the life of him he couldn't understand the routine Minato must be doing. Not even a wrinkle creased that face of his, while age was beginning to leave its marks on Kakashi's own body.

Minato thought about it for a second before shaking his head, blond locks shimmering in the setting sun as they twisted from side to side, sunlight dancing upon the golden strands.

"If I come home smelling like that, I'm pretty sure Iruka'll murder me. Speaking of, you haven't been around to bug Iruka in a while. I think he misses arguing with you, 'Kashi."

"I'll try to make it a point to come by," Kakashi said dryly, lighting up the cigarette easily. "How'd you know I was up here?"

"Easy. You took a break," Minato responded, "You're always there at work, despite my orders. You're never on break. So something must've happened that made this never-occurrence happen."

"Sometimes the words you speak make no sense whatsoever. It's obviously not a never-occurrence if it's happened before," Kakashi said.

"I just wanted to make you smile, 'Kashi. Obviously; that was a foolish venture," sighed Minato, shrugging. "Anyways, what happened? Tenzō said that you seemed especially calm—so he got really worried about you. You've gotta stop making Tenzō worry so much about your mental and emotional health, Kakashi. You're gonna stress the poor guy out."

"Tenzō's naturally a worrywart, Minato. It had nothing to do with me," he said, licking his bared lips before sighing. "We went up to the college a couple of days ago. The Hyūga's college, I mean."

Minato's brow twitched. "I've been meaning to ask you about that, but you've been making yourself especially busy. What happened?"

"Well, the dorm was a downright mess. There was blood and piss and a lot of shit everywhere. Signs of struggle was obvious, and it'd been locked for so long that everything began to just reek—especially the fucking body." If Minato was drinking something, he would've spit it out. His blue eyes went so wide that Kakashi was momentarily afraid that they'd bug out of her skull. "Yeah, apparently, the little boyfriend got pissed when he found out the girl dipped. The RA came by to make sure everything was alright the next morning—apparently she'd gotten a lot of complaints on her front door—and he pulled her in before she knew what was happening. Fucking raped her too, and then he snapped her neck. Autopsy proved as much. She got a good bit of skin underneath that manicure of hers though, so we got ID."

Minato stared at him for a moment before picking up the pack of Smooths from between them, popping one into his mouth and snatching Kakashi's lighter out of his hand and lighting up.

"Thought you said that Iruka'll get pissed."

"Fuck that. You're lucky I'm not going for whiskey. 'Sides, these are Smooths. They're not that bad. I'll just have to go to the gym and sweat off the stench of it," Minato responded, taking a long drag before saying, "Keep going. What's the ID? You must've gotten it today, otherwise you wouldn't be half as pissed as you are, not that murderers-slash-rapists don't piss you off anyways."

Kakashi sighed. "His name was Kabuto Yakushi."

Minato hummed. "Yakushi. Sounds familiar."

"It should ring a couple of bells. Nonō Yakushi's the name of the bell," Kakashi said.

Minato blinked. "Shit, that was one of the biggest cases of me and Fugaku's careers!" he yelped. "Mother_fucker_, I _completely_ forgot that she had a kid! How could I forget that?"

"Two words: the system. He was too young for us to declare that he helped his mother, even though he really did try to help."

Minato scowled. "Fucking system," he muttered before blinking. "Holy fuck, I just realized… wasn't Suki… _oh fuck._"

"You just came to the same realization I did. Welcome to the club, Minato," Kakashi sighed, clapping his hand on his mentor's shoulder.

* * *

"I pissed my dad off."

Naruto looked up from the cake batter he was currently mixing, looking over at the Uchiha sitting atop the counter next to him, his right hand resting in the Garden Tomato and Basil Lays' chip package Naruto had ripped open out of light hunger, his black eyes unfocused and staring at the picture-covered wall over in the small living room of the Uzumaki-Namikaze home. Naruto knew fully well when Sasuke was focused and unfocused, and he also knew that sometimes, he had moments when he was in between those two points, moments like this; when he knew fully well what he was saying but didn't quite realize he'd said it until it was already out of his mouth and impossible to take back.

Naruto hummed to himself, returning to his mixing with a slow ease as Sasuke shifted around uncomfortably, having just come to realize what he'd said. Naruto didn't _need_ to ask how Sasuke managed to do such a thing. He didn't even need to present any interest in the how and why. All he needed to do was keep looking at Sasuke with that ever patient look and that raised blonde brow of his, and Sasuke would speak. It was a constant for all of their friendship, and he was hoping—praying—that if Sasuke's other mannerisms towards him didn't change, then this definitely wouldn't.

True to his hopes, Sasuke sighed and leaned the back of his head against the cupboard behind him, his hand leaving the chip bag finally. "I was doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing—that I knew I wasn't supposed to be doing—and so he started berating me. I don't know why, usually I don't give a shit, but I yelled at him. I don't know why, but I was really irritated at him…"

"For what?"

Sasuke sighed, closing his eyes.

Naruto continued staring at him.

"Sas?"

"What?" he hissed, eyes still closed.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? Absolutely anything," he replied slowly, blue eyes watching Sasuke's face carefully before turning his attention back to the brown batter in the bowl he had pressed against his ribs, carefully returning to his mixing as he thought of reasons—with Sasuke, everything had to come with reasons. "I mean, we used to tell each other everything, Sasuke. You told me when you lost your virginity to _Shikamaru_, of all the possible fucking people, and I told you when I kissed Sakura Haruno for the first time and how bad it was and how I realized I was gay because of it. We told each other a lot of shit that other people haven't heard. So you can tell me this."

"Fucking _excuse me_?!"

Naruto looked up from the cake batter he was mixing, ocean-hued eyes as wide as saucers, meeting the angry onyx slates of one Sasuke Uchiha. Naruto didn't need the look in his eyes or the hissed words to tell he had gotten somehow onto Sasuke's bad side that much was obvious just by the aura Sasuke was giving off. What Naruto wanted to know was exactly what he said to gain such animosity, other than the truth.

Sasuke pushed off the counter, ripping the bowl out of Naruto's hands and tossing it none-too-gently to the counter, only a little batter spilling out. Naruto had not a moment to be relieved about this, however—Sasuke, in the next second, rammed his clenched fist into his stomach, not once, but twice, making him grab his now throbbing midsection and even cough up a little blood. Naruto then found himself grabbed by the back of his collar, Sasuke's fingertips _nearly _touching Itachi's necklace. Having him in a choking grip, Sasuke began to drag the hacking and struggling Uzumaki across the floor, pulling him into the living room and dropping him purposefully so that his head would smack against the coffee table.

Naruto's head felt woozy, but he, again, lacked the time to think about it before Sasuke grabbed him again, his forehead nearly slamming on Naruto's more tanned one, angry obsidian eyes taking up all of Naruto's vision.

"Where the _fuck _do _you _get off telling me that I can tell you anything, huh?!" he barked, confusing Naruto even further before he explained himself, probably inadvertently: "Where the fuck do you get off telling me I can tell you anything when you don't tell me jack shit! How can I trust you with anything if you refuse to tell me the one thing that fucking _matters _to me?!"

Naruto blinked.

Fuck.

"I…" he mumbled, his heart already clenching painfully. "I…"

"Don't give me that bullshit you gave me at dinner, you jackass! I want a fucking answer!" Sasuke spat at him.

Oh, how he wished he could answer. If he could answer everything, then the pressure in his heart might actually alleviate some. But the problem was, if he did answer, then more pain would come; more pain would take its place, and he knew that that pain he already felt would come back to play. The last thing he wanted was that pain to join more.

He wished Itachi was there.

Itachi would know exactly what to do. He would tell him exactly what he could do, what he could say. But the problem was, the entire reason he was even in this situation was because Itachi _wasn't _there, that Itachi had left him alone, and that everything had just fucking shattered in Naruto's place because his efforts weren't enough. While he, himself, had helped Sasuke, it'd really always been _Itachi_ that had been the cement that had kept Sasuke's sanity from shattering, and, alone, Naruto just wasn't enough. Nothing Naruto could do was enough. Without Itachi, Sasuke was lost.

Without Itachi, _he _was lost.

Sasuke groaned in anger, pushing away from the male and getting to his feet, stomping out of the house and slamming the door behind him—all the while, not noticing that Naruto had become scarily stoic, all the while sobbing harder than he ever had before, even the night he'd gotten into the fight with Sasuke. Right now, Naruto was at a point that was the mixture of the state he was in after Itachi died—emotionally detached—and the state he was at when he'd lost his best friend—too emotionally available. Of course, this point, this status; contains emotions that are two opposing forces, and when one has too opposing forces within them, one tends to do something that would be, well…

Incredibly stupid.

Naruto went to Minato's desk, pulling out the Exacto knife hidden in the back of the bottom drawer. After Naruto's last suicide attempt, Minato and Iruka had gone a little crazy with the hiding of the knives—the real cooking knives were in a locked drawer; the ones he had access to were all butter and icing knives. But lately, and yes, Naruto had been keeping track; Minato and Iruka had both gotten a bit lax with it—and two nights ago, after Minato had opened a package, he'd gotten lazy and just thrown the knife into the bottom drawer because it was open.

Naruto took advantage of the open opportunity, taking the blade to his wrists and slowly, painfully, _agonizingly_; pressed into the skin, drawing a thick flow of blood from the incision before moving it across his wrist, the motions he was using surely jagged and drawing more blood than Naruto had ever realized that he had in his body.

He was on his sixth slice before the lightheadedness alerted him to what a stupid thing he'd just done to himself. With trembling fingers, the knife fell from his hand, eyes glued to the bloodied mess that was now his wrist, the tears pouring from his eyes dropping into the already painful wound and making it _burn_ worse than anything Naruto had ever felt.

"_What the fuck did you just do?!_"

Naruto looked up from his wrist finally, into the petrified eyes of his father—who was, in fact, the last person he'd wanted to find him. He didn't want Minato to go blaming himself, for anything, and by doing this… by leaving the evidence so clearly laid out… he'd done just that.

And worse, he'd even done in front of Kakashi, too.

If it was possible, the amount of tears pouring from his eyes increased.

"D-Daaaddy… III-I'mmmm s-ssorrrrr-ry," he said in a wobbly, nearly incoherent voice before his world faded into the black.

_Itachi, I'm sorry._

* * *

_"__Papa, Papa, Papa!" _

_Hiashi barely had the time to turn around before the child calling for their papa—calling for him, he knew—had latched herself to his legs, her little arms wrapping tightly around his considerably taller and larger appendages, her little body shaking with laughter and enjoyment. She looked up at him with those oversized pale lavender eyes of hers, the sets twinkling with happiness. He didn't need to ask her why she was so glad; he knew already. He'd been sent home. Finally sent home. He was finally home from a war that had taken far too long and far too much, and he was finally able to look down at the perfect little being he'd aided in the creation of; finally able to look down at the pretty little girl that was his daughter. _

_He just wished that this—this reunion—was under a different circumstance, but unfortunately that was too much to ask for. _

_His brother had been killed in action only a month before. He hadn't allowed himself a moment of grief, and he hadn't even told his wife about it. He didn't want her knowing, he didn't want his little girl knowing, and he _definitely _didn't want Hizashi's family to know. Not his girlfriend, nor his son; Hiashi's nephew. But the war ended, finally ended, and he was discharged before he could even get a firm ground. And now he was here, with his daughter on his leg, and unsure whether or not to be between grief and happiness. _

_And then the majestic thing happened. _

_She looked up at him with those wide eyes of hers and said: _

_"__Papa, I want you to always come back to me. I wanna be with Papa forevers and evers! Papa, will you be with me forevers and evers?" _

_And he said, without even a thought: _

_"__I'll always come for you, Sunshine." _

"Dad?"

Hiashi cracked open his right eye, blinking against the harshly bright hospital lights to look over at his younger daughter, who stared at him with concern evident in her youthful face. Hanabi had never been the kind of daughter Hinata was—she was more of a tomboy and more independent as a toddler, whereas Hinata was the girly and dependent one. Not that things had changed much, with the exception of dependence—Hinata had gained an immense amount—but she was a bit better at showing her emotions now than in her childhood. She clearly exhibited her worry for his state of mind every day, and now was no exception.

"Dad, you slept here again. It's bad for your back to sleep sitting up, especially in one of these chairs," she continued.

"My back is fine," Hiashi responded as he stood up, "Are visiting hours over?"

"No. But Hinata's talking with Neji right now. When's the last time you saw your bed, hmm?" asked Hanabi, frowning and putting her hand on that little hip of hers—a habit she must've picked up from her mother. How, Hiashi wasn't sure, considering she passed in a car accident before Hanabi was even old enough to start remembering things like habits and idiosyncrasies, but somehow his youngest had managed to do just that. Hanabi had less of her mother's looks than Hinata—she took more from him; really, he supposed, but in a girlish way—but she was her mother through-and-through. She was kind to a degree, but mostly she was a hard-head and scarily intelligent for her age.

Not to say that Hinata wasn't intelligent herself—she was actually more intelligent than _anyone_ should be at her age—but she was far kinder and therefore more delicate than Hanabi, him, or any other remaining family had. That made this all the harder for all of them; who had always considered themselves to be like the little Hinata's protectors.

"I don't recall," he replied, rubbing his eyes. Well, technically; he knew, but giving an answer would be exactly like giving in. He hadn't seen the inside of his house in a little more than a week now. He dropped Hanabi home and such, but for the most part he never even left the hospital. Considering he was currently a lawyer at one of the biggest firms in the country, he knew this wasn't going over well, but really he couldn't care less.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Okay, Dad; when's the last time you haven't had food that didn't come out of a _vending machine_?"

At the idea of food, his stomach decided to betray the rest of him by growling. If possible, Hanabi's already-hard-and-sharp eyes got even worse, and a small part of him considered yelling at her for looking at him that way. However, considering that would be _just_ what his parents would've done, he decided against it and instead narrowed his own eyes at her. "Don't you dare make me into the child of this relationship, Hanabi. I'm your father; and your father is telling you he's fine. Therefore, I'm fine."

Hanabi's eyes softened, and she sighed. "Daddy…"

"Don't you dare pull that daddy shit either. I'm not falling for that. I'm staying right here," Hiashi interrupted Hanabi before she could make him feel any _more_ like a shitty parent.

Hanabi stared at him for another moment before shaking her head. "Daddy, you need to go home. Nata's a big girl; and she'll be okay for a few hours while you get some real food in you. Neji and me went to the store today and got stuff for stir-fry. You can eat some of that, work on that case you had sitting on your desk, maybe take a nap; and then we'll be back in the morning."

"It's 'Neji and I', Hanabi."

She now glared. "Is that all that was subtracted from that?"

Hiashi glared back before sighing. "No. You're right. But…"

"She's your baby girl; I know. So am I and you'd do the same thing for me if it happened. She's my big sister, Daddy," Hanabi interrupted, "So I feel the same way you do about this, and so does Neji. But Daddy, you can't just stop your normal routine because of it. Not only will it get you nowhere, but you'll lose your job and Hinata will be the one who'll feel shitty about herself if you lose your job over something that happened to her, and you know that."

Hiashi scowled before it flattened out into a plain frown. As much as he hated it, his youngest indeed had a point. Hinata would be the one who would feel bad about her father feeling anguish that she was hurt. She was just _that kind_. As much as he hated it, at the same time, if she wasn't that kind of girl it wouldn't be the same. Thank whatever deity above that the person she was didn't die—which he had observed when Hinata accidentally spilled the juice all over the nurse and had tried frantically to clean it up and apologized profusely up and down.

As he began to nod and stand up, his eyes somehow found something coming up from down the hall most interesting. Why, he didn't know, and he didn't really realize what it was until the figure came close enough.

Neji was walking up the hall.

The same Neji who was _supposed_ to be in Hinata's hospital room.

Eyes almost popping out of his skull, Hiashi ripped away from Hanabi without warning, sprinting to the room only a few meters away, quickly trying the door handle only to find it was locked. Growling and taking a good few steps back, Hiashi ran with full force at the door, not caring if it didn't bow in even slightly under the force. Locks on hospital doors are not always engaged—for obvious reasons, of course—but when they are, the fuckers are harder to break open than one might think. The point of it wasn't truly to get in—its purpose was to figure out if there was anyone in there that shouldn't be.

Judging by the sudden spew of deep-voiced cursing and something clattering to the ground, there was no doubt that there wasn't.

"Uncle, what are you doing?!" voiced Neji, now running down the hall as Hanabi went to grab at her father, her slender fingers nearly wrapping around his sleeved arm before he ran at the door once more. Hiashi, himself, barely heard him, barely noticed her. He was scared. Yes, he, Hiashi Hyūga, was scared shitless. It wasn't an uncommon feeling to him, really—he'd have to be a liar to say that he'd never been scared shitless when he was still active-duty. There'd been a multitude of times that he'd been scared he wouldn't survive; that he would never get to see his family ever fucking again.

But this was somehow starkly different. It wasn't just that he couldn't hear Hinata that was scaring him. It wasn't even just that whoever this shithead was had managed to sneak in without his hearing it. What it was that he knew that Hinata's troubles weren't done was scaring him, in addition to the other variables. It was that getting raped wasn't the last problem Hinata could have, and right now, getting raped _again_ was the worst of it. He wasn't sure Hinata could handle it happening again—she _barely _held it all together the first time. He knew she couldn't handle it, actually, and for another thing… he couldn't handle it, either. Hinata was his baby. Hanabi might be the youngest, but Hinata was the baby, and this only emphasized it. Made everything that much worse, because while he knew he would be just as worried if it were Hanabi in this position, what he didn't know was if Hinata would be stronger than her sister in that moment, in that situation. Hanabi was just naturally built tougher. Hinata was always more delicate to him.

Hands grabbed him from behind, but he didn't struggle; didn't fight, because he could see a janitor running with keys in hands, fumbling with the oversized set in order to open the door before the veteran actually did begin to fight back. As soon as that door was open, though, Hiashi ripped his way right out of those none-too-strong hands, rushing through the door without care to whom he plowed over—which, in this case, was actually Neji, eyes glued on the sight of Hinata curled in on herself, black-blue hair disheveled and lavender eyes wide on the open window of the suite, the light breeze making the bare skin of her arms and legs blossom with goosebumps.

Hiashi put his hand on her shoulder with all the gentleness he could muster in that moment, making his eldest flinch and whip around in fear, only to find her father looking at her. Hiashi tried not to notice the bright red marks around her usually pale neck, nor the bite mark on the edge of her bottom lip; tried not to notice the fearful shaking of Hinata's entire body and the way her hand grabbed onto his turtleneck as if it were going to poof right out of existence.

Well, tried.

It was all ruined when Hinata whispered fearfully,

"Papa, you came."

Without even thinking, he pulled Hinata into him, his arms wrapping around her tightly and his hands weaving themselves into the long dark locks that she had inherited from her mother; as if trying to see if he could become like an armor for the trembling and petrified young woman he'd aided in the creation of.

"I'll always come for you, Sunshine."

* * *

**Okay, I'm fixing this now, like I promised. Firstly, I apologize for the stupidly suicidal Naruto I've written in this fic. I know he isn't the Naruto we've come to love, and there's reasons why, and trust me, the Naruto we know and love will be coming back in this story. Sasuke's just... Sasuke. I could see him doing something like that, and somehow I like him as the jackass he is. "Violently assault first, ask questions later." I don't like the "I hate myself bullshit" I've given him, and that will go away. I secondly apologize for a lack of Kiba, Shikamaru, or Hidan in this chapter if anyone was looking forwards to it, but I needed to deal with Hinata and Kakashi. I've decided to strive for a KakaHina pairing in this, so no NaruHina, guys. **

**So decided pairings so far: SasuKiba, KakaHina**

**I don't know if I'm going to pair Naruto with anyone in this story, to be honest. Pairing with Naruto is a little difficult for me because no one really is as perfect for him as Hinata, but I hate writing them as a pairing so that's not happening. He is going to get involved with someone, but I doubt I'll keep them together. And for Shikamaru... unsure what to do on his story line... well, I know what I want, and I'll try to get it down, but I don't foresee everlasting romance in his situation, either, to be honest. We'll see what happens. **

**So... Papa Hyuga though, huh? xD lol I'm fucked. Why do I put the Hyuga's through so much bullshit? They don't deserve it, but I can't help it. They can handle it, and it makes**

**To Stop-The-Pain: I am so sorry :( I didn't want anyone to cry! It's okay sweetheart, she's in a better place now! **

**To sailorangelmoon1: well, hello! :) Heehee, thanks for the compliment! I hope you're enjoying this story! **

**To Ayrmed: thanks thanks! :D **

**Love you all. **

**I apologize again for Naruto's stupid suicidal tendencies in this story. **

**I'll try to update again soon. Maybe. Probably. Not sure. I don't know. **

**Don't hate me. **


	8. We're All a Little Crazy, Though

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.**

**Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

_"Sh-sh-sh-shake it off go get the things you want._  
_I'll bottle the shame (bottle the shame)._  
_Just sh-sh-shake it off, and no one will ever know (won't know)._  
_I'm a slave to all these voices in my head,_  
_And I'm afraid, I'm afraid of what they've said._  
_I'm a slave to all these voices in my head,_  
_And I'm afraid they'll walk with me until my end."_

* * *

Schizophrenia.

Such an ugly word to his ear. Surreal, and ugly. Foreign, and ugly. But, nonetheless, ugly. Hideous, actually. It was a word he didn't want attached to him; suctioned to him. It was a word that he didn't even want associated with him in the least bit. He simply did not want it to touch any single part of his life, even a small portion of it. It was disgusting and he didn't want it, not one bit, and yet, not a singular choice in it was his to make over his having it. He couldn't just hand it back, after all.

Schizophrenia.

Schizophrenia.

_Schizophrenia. _

Maybe if he kept repeating it in his mind, it would become more plausible. It wouldn't be so foreign a concept. It wouldn't make him as scared and disgusted as he was.

The word didn't even sound like something that could be remotely attached to him, and yet, here it was, being forced and beaten into his mind with only one mention of the heinous word by the innocent psychiatrist. He knew better than he knew his very own name that this was a part of him; whether or not he wanted it to be ignored and damned. It was him. He was it. They were each other and he had no say in it.

"So my baby has split personalities?"

Though the door was closed now, closed to him out in the waiting office, he was sitting closely enough that he could hear every word that was spoken, though with the open layout of the room and the lack of people in it; he probably could've heard it just as easily from the window seat, too. As it was, the sadist of a receptionist (which he could see just by the glint in her brown eyes and the way she tried to impale his ass with her sharp, long violet-painted nails when she groped him) could hear everything, and probably the boy with the ripped gray jeans could hear it too, judging by the look on his face. It, thankfully, was not pity, but that was the most he could subtract. For the most part, the kid's look was virtually unreadable.

"No, no, darling; no," he could hear his father attempting to calm his wife, who wasn't an idiot in the least, but like most of the population, simply believed a falsity, which he couldn't blame her for. If he listened just closely enough, he could hear what sounded like the crinkling of a couch—his father sitting his mother back down as slowly as possible.

"It's very common that people misinterpret schizophrenia for multiple personality disorder, Mrs. Nara. The way some schizophrenics can act seems the same way as one might should they have multiple personalities, but I assure you, your son does not have MPD," Kurenai Yūhi said gently to his parents, though not gently enough since he could hear it. "Schizophrenia means that he has hallucinations and delusions. He can hear 'someone' talking to him in his ear, even when someone isn't, and he can also think he sees someone, too. It's all in his head."

"Did the… did the heroin…?" asked his father slowly.

"Actually, the heroin was some type of treatment for him. His mind was moving on a distorted pace than it should've been with his non-treatment of it and any hallucinations he might've had, he either didn't have them or didn't notice. The largest trigger, I believe, was coming back off of the heroin, though since I don't know the full story I can't make the assumption without further analyzation. What I can tell you is that his anxiety must've been the beginning signs of it." More crinkling. She must've moved forwards. "Shikamaru's brain simply produces too much dopamine receptors. Medication would block these receptors and regulate the amount."

"So let's get the medication!" his father immediately spouted.

Another shift. Discomfort?

"It's not so simple, Mr. Nara, I'm afraid."

Shikamaru blinked—for the first time in about five minutes, but he hadn't noticed. What did she mean it wasn't that simple?

"What are you saying?"

A sigh, on Kurenai's part. "I cannot simply prescribe the medication to a recovering heroin addict and someone who admitted to having been forging prescriptions for anxiety medication for months after his treatment finished. Paired with his obvious instability—and I will not lie, your son is not stable—I'm required by the law to push him to a mental institution for a four-month _possibility _period."

No.

No.

_No._

She couldn't be serious.

She absolutely could not be serious.

He was… crazy? Actually, bona fide crazy? Well, he already knew that, but it was a starkly different experience to actually hear he was crazy from someone who identified crazies _for a living_. She knew exactly what she was talking about. If she said he was crazy, then he was a fucking fruit loop. There was no question about it.

"What the hell is a possibility period, Kurenai?" his father asked, his voice sounding strained.

She sighed again. "It's a period in which a patient is identified for having the capability to regain and maintain sound mind, Mr. Nara, by government-paid professionals—I am a professional, but they are admittedly better than I am and I am paid privately. They are the ones who are called into courts when there is a question of insanity in those being prosecuted, and they are the ones who will be overseeing your son's possibility period."

"What if we don't want it?" Yoshino finally voiced. "_My baby is not crazy_."

"Mrs. Nara, I agree. Your slang term—I would prefer mentally unfit, to be professional—insinuates a degree of finality, ma'am, and your son is not the type of boy to lay down and allow himself to remain unstable. But I am required to give it to him if you want the medication. He cannot be trusted to administer his own dosages until he can prove it." She sighed again—she was doing an awful lot of sighing. "Of course, in the end, this is all his decision. I cannot force him, and since he is above eighteen he has the right to decide his own medical options. But I highly suggest he takes the opportunity."

"But if you do this—"

"If _he _does it he has a better chance at kicking his addiction, as well as learning to deal with his illness. He's lucky that we caught it now rather than later, before it got unbearable. There are medications that easily aid him, and he can live a happy and healthy life."

"This is… this is something that I think we need to talk about…" Shikaku said slowly, seat crinkling more. "He'd more than likely say no…"

"Like I said, that is all his decision, Mr. Nara. But I lack the ability to properly treat him here. The best thing I can do for him is send him to a place that has the ability to treat him. There's a wondrous hospital by seaside…"

Shikamaru pulled his knees into his chest, his palms pressing down on his ears and his eyes squeezing shut, overlong strands of wiry brown locks falling in front of his face. No. No. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't really be happening to him. How was it even possible? Well, he knew how, but he seriously did not want to think of the things that had probably happened. It wouldn't change the fact that he did _not want it fucking happening at all. _It wasn't fair. Not at all.

He opened his eyes in time to see the messy-headed tattooed teenager sit up on the couch he'd been lounging lazily on, brown eyes concentrated on him. Letting out a breath of air, he got up, walking slowly over to Shikamaru's balled-up body; slowly allowing his body to fall into the couch next to the older male. Fisting his hands over his visibly dry and scarred kneecaps, the boy kept their gazes connected, his mouth giving a soft smile.

"I have PTSD, dysthymia, several severe personality and behavioral disorders," the boy said almost immediately. "I'm bullied, I live with my psychiatrist, I have an amount of friends I can count easily on one hand, and I spend every night in a psychiatrist's office because of court mandate. I have no idea who my real family is and I was given the name Inuzuka when I was found. The things that are wrong with me are not few, are not far between, and for the most part have no medication that it can be cured with. I have no idea how to speak to people or how to react in a certain way to other people's issues, and I have no trust for men above the age of forty." The boy put his hand on Shikamaru's and gently pulled it away from his ear. "You will be fine."

Shikamaru stared at him for a few long moments, trying to gauge his seriousness. When he saw no change in his facial expression, he finally decided to stutter out, "H-How do you kn-know that?"

The smiled softened even more, if possible. "Because Mom has faith in you and I believe Mom, because she taught me that life isn't over just because your mind goes to shit. If she believes you'll get better, then you will, without any question."

* * *

_ "__Are you afraid of dying?" _

_The moment the words left his lips, Naruto wished he could suck them right back in; his cheeks turning bright red with mortification as he covered his mouth, turning on his side so that his back faced the male next to him. His blue eyes widened in an almost comical way (though at that moment, nothing was funny) his entire frame shaking in fear of rejection and the possibility of the worst reaction possible. For a moment, he was actually terrified that they would leave right now. _

_Much to his surprise [and relief] a hand gently pulled on his upper arm. For fear of making things worse for his already-heavy condition, Naruto turned back over, the grass blades tickling his skin as he moved back over, a ladybug landing almost surreally on his wrist and making its slow, lazy way back up. The August day was surprisingly amazing; the perfect heat for just laying in the small hidden clearing in the forest about a mile out of town, which they'd walked to only because he'd disallowed Naruto to drive. _

_Speaking of him, a small smile tilted his lips upwards; his onyx eyes shining brightly in the afternoon sunlight. His hand slowly moved up from his arm, his fingertips ghosting over him before reaching his cheek, where he placed his palm atop the warm space of skin. _

_"__Naruto," he cooed softly, "Of course I'm afraid of dying." _

_Naruto blinked. He hadn't been expecting that, especially in not that calm of a voice. "Y-You are?"_

_"__I can't think of a person in this world who is not afraid," he said, still giving a soft, reassuring smile. "But death, Naruto, is a part of life. It's the price of it all. Nothing is made to last forever in this world, especially not people. It's scary, but it's going to happen someday. It's inevitable, death. I can't stop it from coming just like I can't stop the night from falling and the clock striking twelve." _

_"__You say it so calmly," muttered Naruto. _

_"__Would you rather I sobbed it?"_

_Naruto frowned now, looking away. "No…"_

_"__I've come to terms with it, Naruto. They tried their best and that was all I could ask for. The rest is simply waiting for inevitability." _

_"__The way you say it makes me doubt you're scared."_

_"__Naruto…" If possible, his voice softened more. "Look at me, Bright Eyes." _

_Though the topic was morbid, Naruto couldn't help but smile. Why he'd called him Bright Eyes the first time they'd met was far beyond his comprehension, but he'd been calling him that for so long that he didn't think much of it at all. Turning his ocean-blue hued orbs towards the obsidian ones that stared so intently at him, he kept careful eye contact; knowing he was being serious, though calm and pleasant about it._

_"__The last thing I want is to leave. I don't think I'm done. There are so many things I wanted to do with my life. Maybe I'm not meant to do them, I'm not sure, but I'd been looking forwards to them." He turned his intent gaze up to the sky, and Naruto followed suit. "I really wanted to see you graduate, you know. You, Sasuke, Chōji, Shikamaru and Hinata. I wanted to see all of you smile wide when you got your diplomas. I wanted to help Chōji cook the dinner he's been planning since you guys were freshmen. I wanted to grab you and hold you tight and whisper my congratulations into your ear. I wanted to buy an apartment so we could live together."_

_"__You…" Naruto looked over at him. "L-Living together? You… want to live with me?"_

_"__Of course I do; I love you," he said with perfect ease, a small smile touching his lips. "I could go on and on about the ways and forms that I love you, but the fact remains that I do love you. Nothing in that would ever change in my love for you. I don't care if we're both male. I don't care if we started this when you were too young, and people would look down on us. I want you. I'll always want you. I'll always love you."_

_"__Are you trying to make me cry?" Naruto asked in a wobbly voice._

_He frowned, looking over at the younger. "I'm sorry, Bright Eyes, but I'm telling you the truth. There are so many things I wanted to do with you after high school." He smirked a little and sat up, crossing his legs. "Come here, handsome."_

_Smiling slightly at his remembrance for Naruto's hatred of the word 'cute', he got off of his back, crawling into his lap without any question or direction, straddling the older easily, his arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his chest against his, his chin nestling in the crook of his neck. Fingers, slender and nimble, wove themselves into Naruto's messy blond locks, their grip both tight and gentle. He breathed gentle, ticklish breaths onto Naruto's considerably tanner skin, his lips just a breadth away from contacting Naruto's skin. "I don't __**want **__to leave you. If I had the choice, I would keep living. But I don't. My time is coming. I'm feeling weaker and weaker every day. I could barely handle the hike up here—and I think I'll need you to carry me back down; in fact. I want to stay with you; I want to live my life with you. I wish I could, but the most I have are these next few months, I believe, and I'm trying my best to spend them all with you."_

_"__I'm sorry I've been busy…"_

_"__You're a senior now, Bright Eyes; you can't help it. You've got things to do. You've got a full life to live, Naruto; and I want you to live it. If there's a heaven, and I go to it, I want to watch you live, Naruto. If I can't be with you for as long as humanly possible, then I want to see you be happy, even when I'm gone. I don't care if you find someone else, marry someone, and love someone besides me. I will never hate you for falling in love. Just… don't try to leave quickly, Naruto. Please, just live. Keep living."_

_"__But what if it's too hard?" Naruto's voice was almost a whisper. _

_The hands stopped moving, and he pulled back slightly. "Never say that. Nothing is too hard, Naruto. Never give up just because I'm not there. You live because someone loved you, and you will find love again." _

_"__I don't want someone to love me other than you! I only want you!" Naruto cried out, holding him tight again. _

_"__And I want you, too. I will always want you. Nothing will ever change such a thing. But the last thing I want is for you to live the rest of your life unhappy because of me, because death took something from you. I don't want you to go looking for death, because it will inevitably find you, without question. Don't be afraid of living a life," he whispered in response. _

_"__But it's not fair."_

_"__Life isn't." _

_The moment was silent, the words he'd spoken hanging over both their heads, Naruto's hands fisting into the fabric of his loose, but thick crewneck sweater. He'd lost a lot of weight during the chemo that he'd just never managed to gain back, and that had made Naruto more concerned about keeping him warm. He'd even gone so far as to shove a thick hat on his head, just to make sure he was completely alright all the time. Now Naruto pushed the hat off, showing the messy black bangs that fell partially in front of his eyes. He'd managed to re-grow his former long hair, and now it was free, unbound by a rubber band. Naruto ran his hand through the long locks, pushing them back into submission. "Am I allowed to cry for you?"_

_"__I'm not ordering you, Naruto." He frowned. _

_Naruto smiled softly. "I know." The smile soured, and then fell completely. "Do you think we should tell someone about us?"_

_"__Chōji and Deidara know already." _

_"__By someone, I meant Sasuke. Doesn't he deserve to know?"_

_"__I'd like to tell Sasuke. Not today, but before I go, I'd like to let him know." He smiled now. "I wonder, if we hypothetically tried to marry, would he become your best man or my best man?"_

_"__Are you kidding? He's mine. I call it. Hidan can be yours." _

_"__Hidan'll just curse the entire time."_

_"__Still, Hidan's your best friend. Of course he'd want to be your best man." Naruto's own smile came back, and he put his head back in the crook of his neck, closing his eyes. "I love you so much, 'Tachi."_

_Itachi breathed softly enough in amusement for Naruto to know he was smiling widely. "I love you too, Naruto." _

Naruto struggled to open his eyes once more, but when he did, Itachi wasn't there anymore. In fact, he wasn't even sitting. Frantic, Naruto attempted to sit upright, but soreness in his chest disallowed him from doing anything quickly. Wincing, he moved to grab at his chest, only for _something_ to impede his movement. Fear rising, he looked down at his wrists, eyes widening even more to see straps around his wrists, tight and unyielding.

What was this? What was going on? Where was he? Naruto looked around in terror, eyes taking in every detail until they surmised an answer: hospital. He was in hospital. Why was he in hospital? Why couldn't he remember why he was in hospital? There must've been a reason. Simply must be. And why was he bound to the bed? Doctors didn't do that unless a patient was on—

His eyes widened.

He was on suicide watch.

"So you woke up."

The voice was too cold to be either his father's or Iruka's, not matter how disappointed in him they may be; but it was the perfect timbre to be his other 'older brother'. As a kid, he'd always called Kakashi 'big brother' without any thought, mostly because Kakashi didn't mind and he was always by the house anyways while he was growing up, always arguing with Iruka and always allowing Naruto to draw all over his masks with his Crayola markers. Kakashi wasn't really the type to spoil Naruto, and was always rather realistic when they talked, which Naruto didn't mind in the least. Kakashi's realism was always appreciated—but just not now, and he wasn't delusional enough to believe that he wasn't getting a dosing of it.

Naruto hung his head, his arms slackening dully. "W-What did I do?"

"You stupidly ripped open your arms with an Exacto knife."

Blunt. Callous. Hurtful. Painful. Kakashi's brand of truth was all those things and more. It could've been worse, he supposed. He could've completely pissed Kakashi off, which was hard to manage.

"I don't remember."

"I do. I sat in the ambulance trying to keep your dad from flipping his shit, and I sat in the waiting room for fourteen hours doing the same exact thing."

"Where is he?"

"I sent him home with 'Ruka." Kakashi audibly moved into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You're fired."

Blunt. Callous. Hurtful. Painful.

And somewhat startling.

"W-What?" Naruto asked, looking up from his lap, eyes wide.

Kakashi flicked him a lazy glance. "You're not stupid enough to believe that we can have officers who are an endangerment to themselves, are you? We can't just give you a gun like this. You're lucky that this is all you're getting, Naruto. A fed came by and tried to get you placed in a mental institute. You're just lucky your dad's name carries some real weight and he was able to fight for this much."

"But what do I do now?" Naruto asked, terrified. He didn't really care about the job itself, per say, but he did care about the fact that he'd be left alone more often now.

"Heavy therapy was the condition Minato managed to get. You'll live at home, but every day you've got to go to a rehabilitation center a few blocks from the station. Minato will drop you and pick you up every day. Under no condition are you allowed to drive or take the Metro on your own. When the feds come by and judge your mental preparedness is when this'll lift, and maybe—_maybe_—you'll get your job back."

"I…"

"Don't." Kakashi's voice was clear. "I don't want to hear your apology, you idiot. What you did was beyond idiotic and selfish and I really just want to throttle you for putting me, your father, and Iruka through all that. I don't want to know what you were thinking, or why you did it. I don't care. Just stop doing this. Sasuke's behavior is self-destructive, but yours is far worse. Keep this up, you really will die, and who'll be left destroyed because of it? Me. Minato. Iruka. We will always have to live with asking ourselves 'what if more could've been done'. We will always live with the grief of having lost you because you wanted to be selfish." Kakashi sighed, running a hand through his wiry locks and shooting Naruto a glare. "I am so fucking mad at you, Naruto. You know I have no tolerance or sympathy for suicide. You know that full well. The only reason I'm not punching you is because you bled too much and you need to get back to a proper blood count in order for you to take the injury. I have so much on my plate and then you pull this and all I thought was that not only would I have lost fucking _family_, but I also would've have to tell Hinata about this all. If you think Iruka and Minato would break because of that, then you probably don't know how Hinata would. She's gone through so much _shit_, and then I had to pile this atop it."

Naruto nearly stopped breathing. He hadn't heard Hinata was back. "Where is she?" he asked immediately.

"She's here. In hospital." Kakashi got up, his gaze hard as he began to leave the room. "Just to give you an idea how selfish you are… Hinata was raped, Naruto. Do you see _her_ giving up on her life?"

* * *

Tears dripped down her face, and she couldn't stop them from landing onto the glossy, yet blurry and obviously dated photograph in her hands, which trembled not from a breeze but from the shaking of her hand. For once, her hand didn't shake out of fear, which would've been a plus if it weren't for the fact that they shook instead out of grief.

Guilt attacked her mind like a virus. Why had she left like she did? Why hadn't she stayed? Naruto obviously needed people; friends. He needed everyone who mattered, ans what did she do? She'd upped and left. No explanation to him. No rhyme or reason. To be frank, she hadn't even really liked the school she'd chosen. It never had been her type of school. She did love architecture, but she had wanted to go to the architectural engineering and sciences school that was only a single train stop away from her home. She'd adored that campus.

But no. She had to get away, and now this happened.

She remembered back when Naruto was that bubbly, happy blond. Never was there a day when Naruto wasn't smiling for some reason or another, never was there a day when Naruto wasn't yelling something obscene and embarrassing either her or any of the rest of their friends, which he did frequently and quite easily. The funny thing was, none of them minded. In fact, it was because of that Hinata, and the rest of them, grew and developed as people; became the people they were. If Itachi had been a sort of glue for them, then Naruto had been the mold for them all. If it weren't for the both of them, then none of them would've been friends.

Of course, it seemed, one could not exist without the other. In a perfect world, Itachi's cancer would've been treated and he would've been in remission and living a life happy beside Naruto (a secret which Chōji had spilled halfway through their junior year to her, not that she hadn't noticed it on her own). But, obviously, this was not a perfect world. Life was inherently imperfect and cruel, and instead of having the love of his life, Itachi was gone, leaving a broken Naruto in his wake. To make things worse, Naruto also lost his mother—whom, for a long time, was his best friend; much like Sasuke's mother was to him—and his friendship with Sasuke.

They hadn't simply been broken apart, they'd been exploded.

"You shouldn't cry for anyone."

Hinata's heart sped up before she even looked up, her mind already knowing that it was Kakashi based on that silky, husky and mysterious timbre of his. For reasons she really couldn't comprehend, ever since he first came to talk to her, she'd been finding herself mesmerized by that voice of his.

It was so… human.

She really didn't have a quantifier for it. If she had to phrase it somehow, she figured the best way to phrase it was this way: when she'd been eleven, she'd developed a crush on Naruto for his almost surreal personality. She'd liked him because he was so beautiful that it was almost impossible, and the way he managed to bring people together was so magical that it bordered on angelic in its capabilities. Of course, as she grew up, she realized that Naruto was in no form perfect. Yes, he was attractive, but his attractiveness was not meant, apparently, for the members of the opposite sex. In addition to that, Naruto did everything on impulse, which got him into multiple fights, and he was a knucklehead in addition to an incredibly stubborn idiot.

With Kabuto, her crush on him was because of his apparent perfection. He was such a good actor that she'd honestly believed that he was the best person in the world, and the fact that he was actually quite attractive and _wanted her_ had made him not only perfect, but the best kind of perfect. Of course, this was not true, at all. Kabuto was, as she knew now, psychotic, possessive, and all-around evil. She was actually afraid of him, no; terrified. Kabuto was no angel or god or even human. He was a demon of the worst sort; maybe even the Devil himself.

But Kakashi… he was not perfect. Kakashi has a scar running through one eye, which was a scary bright red in its hue; the tissue around it slightly wrinkled and actually a little shiny at the edges. The scar was years old already, she could tell that easily; but it marred his face, which for the most part was hidden by the damned mask, which probably hid another scar, if she could assume. Though he was still moderately young, aging was already beginning to touch Kakashi's body, though it was harder to tell with him due to the already-silver hair atop his head, which was never styled.

He moved lazily, slowly; slouching with his hands in his pant pockets, a small copy of an obviously well-leafed-through Icha-Icha novel shoved into his back pocket. His clothes were put on not for professionalism, but for comfort—sometimes, it was a button-up white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows with black pants, but for the most part, it was something like a sweater and dark pants and boots. He had this odor of leather and, in the case of four days ago, cigarettes and the slightest bit of alcohol; as well as deodorant (in fact, the same brand that Neji and her father used, which she knew because when she'd gone grocery shopping before she left for school, she always bought the same brand).

Kakashi was blunt, callous, and a bit emotionally retarded from what she could see; though he was an amazing cop according to Neji. The blunt and callous, she hadn't observed herself, but she knew that there was a bit of an emotional stunt, and she didn't doubt that he'd gone through some tough things in his considerably harder life. She did observe that he was cold and detached; for the most part, but when it came to someone that he cared deeply about he was emotional.

No, Kakashi was not a perfect man. Kakashi was human. Maybe it was that she liked so much. He was so refreshingly and admittedly flawed and frayed and damaged that she felt such… a connection. She was capable of sharing more things with Kakashi because he wasn't a perfect individual, nor did he try to be. It was different from the norm.

She wiped at her face, embarrassed, not even noticing the momentary softening of Kakashi's mismatched eyes, nor the tightening of his fisted hand. He slowly moved inside the room, scuffing the heal of his dusty engineer's boots against the tiled floor of the suite, slipping into the pale blue chair beside Hinata's bed. He watched her with a care that she didn't notice with the tears in her eyes; oblivious to the feelings he already harbored for her that he was in denial of. Feelings like these were the last thing on Hinata's mind. If she liked him, she truly wouldn't know. Fear for her life, grief for what she'd lost, and guilt for aiding in the destruction of what was left far overshadowed any possibility of having feelings for a man who was far older than herself.

"Naruto made his own decisions," he continued in a far gentler voice than he'd use for anyone else.

Hinata continued to wipe her eyes. "I-I know. B-But I'm his fr-friend. I-I should've been here for him."

He shook his head. "You can't do everything. You had school. He chose not to go to school. He chose to stay here. You chose to leave and to have a life. Naruto's life or lack thereof is not your problem. There's no reason for you to be guilty about Naruto's own stupid decisions. You can be sorry that he tried, but I don't see a reason to be guilty that you didn't do anything to stop him."

"Are you always t-this blunt?" she asked softly, still crying but having given up on trying to wipe the tears.

"Most of the time," he said, nodding, "Mostly when I know what I'm talking about."

"B-But you don't," Hinata argued, looking at him with those large pale lavender orbs he couldn't stop dreaming about when he closed his eyes. "Naruto is not _simply_ my friend. N-Naruto is my family. He, Shikamaru, Sasuke, and Chōji are not s-simply my best friends; but my b-brothers. We all grew up together. They're some of the m-most important people in my life, and they kept m-me from becoming some bullied little f-fool. I-I am the person I am b-because of them." She looked down, her hands looking down at the picture again. "T-They always sheltered me. Deidara used to say that I was the princess and they were m-my knights. They a-always cared about m-me, even Sasuke—no, especially Sasuke. They always d-did their best to make s-sure I was happy, and did things they h-hated because I wanted to do them. If they didn't come into m-my life, I don't think I-I'd still b-be alive, and it's because of Naruto that they even saw me to begin with."

Kakashi frowned behind that mask of his. The idea had never occurred to him that she'd feel somehow indebted to them. When she laid it out like that, it made a reasonable amount of sense, actually. It reminded him of his own friendship with Obito and with Minato—except divided amongst four individuals, three of which had turned out fucked up and the last reasonably alright. God, her heart would be in _flames_ if he told her anything about Shikamaru and Sasuke—though, the former, he was vaguely sure she'd already mentioned.

"Your doctors have cleared you for discharge," he said instead of trying to argue—he really saw no argument for it. She was right in her feelings about this, to a degree, but he still didn't think she deserved to feel as guilty as she did. She wasn't a god. She couldn't just protect people from life. However, he knew better than to try and fight her on this. He'd lose, but only because he didn't want to anger her, ever. Fighting was one thing, but anger was another.

She blinked, her tears still dripping down her cheeks. Her breath even stopped for a few seconds, he noticed—a fact that had him run cold for a moment before he saw that chest of hers rise and fall once again (which he made the justification for having stared at her breasts). "I-I am?"

"Yes. A few more tests and you can sign out in one or two days. My boss has already put the finest officers on a perimeter check of your home, and we also—"

"What about you, Mr. Hatake?"

He blinked—still slightly unused to the formality—and raised an eyebrow at her startling lack of stutter as she stared at him unblinkingly, unweilding. "What _about _me, Ms. Hyūga?"

"Are you still on my case?" she asked clearly, stutter completely nonexistent.

"I… yes. I am. I will not be, however, checking in on you so frequently like I do now." Distance. That was the best thing he could think of to keep his feelings from developing any further. He'd made the decision two nights ago, when he'd dreamed of her for the first time. He needed to detach himself from the object of his attentions. He needed to be professional about this case. Hinata's case was a tragedy, yes; but he couldn't afford to think of it with any more emotion that he already did. It would be conflict of interest, and it simply wouldn't do if he couldn't do his job properly because he wanted to have sex with her, and yes; he most definitely wanted to sleep with her—

"I don't want to go home."

Kakashi stopped thinking, looking up at her again. Her tears had completely stopped now; and while her eyes were puffy and red, they were also completely serious and… amazingly stubborn. He'd never seen such a look before in the little Hyūga princess before, and he didn't think he'd like it half as much as he did—which was cause for concern, to him. Those damned feeling were growing by the fucking day! They needed to stop! "You can't stay here," he said slowly, "We can't constantly man the hospital with armed cops. Civilians are getting scared and apprehensive."

"I want to stay with you, Mr. Hatake."

Was it sad that reminded him of Hinata Fantasy (from now on called 'Unmentionable') #42—sexy prep school girl, with a too-tight blouse and short pleated skirt with a failing grade in geometry—not because he thought that she could fail something her area of interest used a lot of, but because in geometry class he could use a ruler?

* * *

"Dad, why is there six-foot gargantuan sleeping in the same bedroom as my little brother?"

Asuma looked up from the book he was trying to get into, looking into jade eyes that, when around the station, normally displayed cold aloofness, but like always when around the house, showed calm care; paired alongside the current curiosity he obviously felt at the moment. Gaara leaned his hip against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his black-covered chest; his usually scrub-bottoms changed out for a pair of dark jeans, the house keys already reattached to his belt. Gaara had a nasty habit of giving no one a warning when he was going to come by, something that Asuma just couldn't estimate for, no matter how hard he tried.

Asuma sighed and closed his book again, placing it on the table top and pushing out the mug of coffee for his adopted son, which he did in silent appreciation of the motion as he slipped into the chair opposite him of the round kitchen table, reaching out and taking the coffee with as little noise as possible. Gaara had always been freakishly silent; that much he could get used to. It was disturbing at first, but luckily, Kankurō and Kurenai had easily been able to explain why he moved with silence: as a child, since he'd been so scared of pissing his father off, he'd learned to hide his very presence. The boy could fade into a background, even with his bloody red hair and his ringed-eyes and even the forehead tattoo. It was freaky, but Asuma didn't mind it half as much as he did at first. Gaara had weird and disturbed written all over him. The silence thing didn't even cover the half of it.

"The six-foot gargantuan is named Hidan," Asuma sighed as he shook a cigarette out of the pack he'd had laying on the table top, "He's someone I knew before we adopted Kiba. He's been having trouble lately, so I'm letting him stay here."

"Saying the word 'stay' is a stretch considering he's cuffed to the bed, Dad," Gaara responded easily and quickly.

"Admittedly, yes. But he followed me."

"Which I bet is only a technicality."

"Remind me why I paid for forensics school rather than law school."

"I enjoy forensics more. But why in Kiba's room? Why not the guest room or something? He doesn't look trustworthy to me," Gaara said as he sipped his coffee. He wasn't attempting to be offensive; Asuma knew it. He was simply pointing out the truth as he saw it. He didn't blame him. If he didn't already know Hidan, he would've had second thoughts about allowing him into his house.

"The guest room needed to be cleaned and your mother felt lazy. Kiba's sleeping down here. He refuses to go upstairs when Hidan's up there," Asuma sighed. Kiba was quite adamant about it, actually. Gaara raised a brow, and Asuma simply said, "Danzō used to be Hidan's supplier."

Gaara's stare leveled out. "You told Kiba that?"

"He was the first I told. I allowed him to decide whether or not he wanted anything to do with Hidan based upon that. Understandably, he said no. He hasn't had any breaks yet, thankfully, but he's been a bit higher-strung as of late. He's been being a little bit sharper with his responses, and he's trying too hard to maintain a façade that he's alright. I think he's scared that Danzō will find him through Hidan."

"Danzō is probably afraid to touch any of them."

"Afraid isn't the right word, but it's a possibility. He knows going after Kiba will absolutely get him in jail, if not murdered. The last thing he needs is something like that. But Kiba's been afraid of Danzō for a longer time than he can even quantify, and so none of that matters to him. He's uneasy."

"He can stay with Kankurō and I if you want…" Gaara offered slowly.

Asuma shot him a look. "I love you, but absolutely fucking not. He doesn't know about what you and Kankurō do at your apartment, and I don't want him finding out any time soon."

Gaara shrugged. "I thought I'd try."

"I appreciate it. But no way in fuck is that going to happen."

* * *

_The little redhead new girl was screaming again, for the second night in a row. He felt badly for her. Master said that she was a little older than he was and she was Master's first girl. He'd never felt any girl was up to par like her, and he wanted to make sure of his suspicions for her first two weeks. Though, he wasn't stupid. Master was already sure of his suspicions, otherwise she'd be dead and maybe her dead body would be tossed into the cage next to him, like the last few. Master just wanted to break her in—ready her for clients. He hardly remembered the first time it happened to him. It was years ago, before memory even began for him. _

_He looked over at __Orange__—who had a name, but to Master, he was required to call him __Orange__ so he called him __Orange__ all the time—who was in his corner again. __Orange__ had broke last year. Master had tried to get rid of him, but __Orange__ was so dangerous that Master altered his purpose. If he were a petty person, he would be envious of __Orange__, but the fact remained that __Orange__'s disorders were no light joke. __Orange__ had really gone off the deep end, and sometimes he was scared of __Orange__'s other side. It wasn't another personality—at least, he didn't think so—but it was damned scary. _

_He considered briefly calling out for __Orange__, but the last guy who'd done that ended up with a shattered pelvis—which was probably a blessing for him, since he'd been killed the same day. When death had become a good thing for him, he wasn't sure, but he did know one thing: it released him. He didn't have to live in this world anymore. He didn't have to exist in Wonderland. _

_That was what Master called it; Wonderland's Roots. An imaginative name, according to Purple. He spoke to Purple a lot, and he'd gained a lot of Purple's opinions. Purple was actually teaching him how to write between their clients. It was one of those rare moments that he wasn't busy and Purple was. He always had far more clients than anyone else, because he was Master's best. It wasn't like it was hard work. Some clients were gentle. The rough ones made him bleed a little, but pain didn't faze him anymore. As long as he could walk, he was fine. _

_"Just greet them with open legs and you'll be fine."__Master told the new ones that their first times. If Master had told him that, he wasn't sure. He surely didn't remember. He might've. Maybe that was why he was the best one of Master's pets. _

_Of course, he didn't want to be. _

_This was nothing he wanted. _

_"Orange, act normal," he murmured as he crawled over to his bedroll in his small cage, pulling the wooden stick hidden in his pillow, as well as the thankfully sharp stone that had been accidentally kicked in through the bars. Setting to work, he began to shave the stick again, sharpening it as much as possible without leaving too many shavings. He couldn't have too many shavings on the ground. Someone might get suspicious. Maybe Master—if he paid attention. _

_"Why?"_

_He blinked in surprise, turning around to see __Orange__ looking up from his knees for once. _

_"Why what?" he found himself asking. _

_"Why do you do that?"_

_He stared at __Orange__ for a moment before looking down at the stick, and then back. _

_"Because I want to be free."_

_ Why was __Orange__ paying attention now, of all times? He never paid him any mind. Why did he have to explain? He only had a few words in his word bank. He didn't know very many, other than the ones he must've gained before he was taken by Master, words he learned from Master and his clients, and big ones he learned from Purple. Free was his favorite out of all the words he'd learned from Purple. In comparison to others, it was small, but it was large because of its weight. Being free __meant __something. It was good. He wanted it. He wanted freedom. It sounded good. Right. _

_"You're the best here. Why do you want freedom?" _

_He thought. Why did he want it?_

_"What's your name?" _

_Orange__ cocked his head. "Orange."_

_"Your real name." _

_"J-Jūgo."_

_He hummed. "I don't have a name. I don't have a life. I don't have a friend or a family. What I am is Master's, and Master is bad. Master is wrong to keep me here. I want the same things Master has. I want a life. I want a friend. I want a family. I want what __Orange__ has. I want a name. I want to be a person, too." He frowned. "Is that bad?" _

_Orange stared at him, and then slowly, but surely, shook his head. _

"Kiba, we're home."

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking blearily over at his adoptive mother, who smiled with such care over at him that he could weep. There wasn't a day that passed that he wasn't thankful for Kurenai's existence in his life. She was a better parent than what he could've ever dreamed of on his own, and then even more. She was definitely not Master. No, she could never be Master.

Danzō, Kiba chastised himself, his name is not Master. He does not own you. He is not Master. Not Master. Danzō. Not Master.

He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it never made a difference. Years spent knowing him as Master would never change his name. To Kiba, that horrid man, responsible for fucking up his life beyond and recognition, would always be his Master. The scars he left on him would never disappear or heal. He would always live with fear that his Master would come for him and take him from his parents and his brothers, like he must've done with his first family. Unrealistic, he knew, since Master didn't like taking boys older than thirteen. The older they were, the more opinionated they were. He wanted complacency.

Though, Kiba broke that statistic. He'd taken Kiba before he even knew which way was up—Asuma estimated two. Of course, he didn't get clientele before he developed—so maybe he was six or seven. He didn't quite remember. In the end, he wasn't curious to find out. Finding out when he became a toy was not in his best interest. It would only upset him. It wasn't something that was a good idea to do. He lost control when he was upset. Control was something he needed.

"Baby, if you don't want to go in there, I can get your Dad to give his friend a different place," Mom said, interrupting his thoughts.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then took a deep breath. No. He wasn't going to think about any of this. He was going to be a good boy. Because that was what he was. He was normal good boy Kiba. He wasn't that nameless child who did anything he could to survive. He wasn't that slave who knew what it was to be in pain before any child should. No, he was normal good boy Kiba. That was all. That was all he needed to be. That was all he wanted to be.

"I'm okay, Mom. I'm okay."

* * *

**_I apologize for the messy end. I really did like it, but I realize that it was slapped together and for that, I apologize. But it was what came to mind, and I tend to follow my gut with a lot of things when it comes to writing, and so this came out... and I liked it. I know it's not COMPLETELY clear on Kiba's past, but I feel it's clear enough that a clarification, at this point, is not necessary. To be honest, I wasn't even planning on doing a reveal so soon, but it kind of just poured out of me and I couldn't stop it. But I liked how it came out and I kept it.  
_**

**_I PROMISE THE PLOT SHALL MOVE FORTH FROM HERE. It's been kind of stagnant but I've really just been trying to get readers, which this story has done easily enough, surprisingly. I really didn't think that people would like this story... but how would you guys like it when the pace actually picks up? That's going to happen soon. _**

**_BTW: CAN YOU GUYS GUESS WHO'S BECOMING INVOLVED IN THIS STORY? lol. They'll be introduced soon enough. _**

_**kiki2222: you wanted more, darling; and more is what you got. **_

_**Midnight-The Angel of Darkness: thank you for the compliment, and no, they won't be pairing, I'm afraid. While I appreciate a good NaruHina, I don't like writing them. They're the go-to Naruto pairing and while they are admittedly the one I personally ship, I like being a little bit offbeat and pick pairings that not a lot of stories are written for. However, I hope the KakaHina makes up for it :3**_

_**Ayrmed: thanks, thanks! :D**_

_**I'm sorry it's not more. But I was busy for a while and then I nearly forgot I'd even started this. I just got back into writing my novel (yes, I wrote a story with all my own characters) and I'm thinking I might be rewriting the whole thing, since my skills have since improved since I wrote it (three years ago). It's probably the best story my mind has ever conjured up. It's all supernatural and funny and badass and I love it so much xD. Add that to the Subject Tests I'm taking Saturday and the application after application I've been filling out, I'm swamped. I wouldn't have it any other way. It makes me feel important.  
**_

_**I LOVE YOU ALL **_

_**:3 **_

_**Lyrics by A Day to Remember. Song: Life "at" 11, off of "Common Courtesy". BTW how many people were so happy when it finally came out? I think I actually cried when my parents handed me the flash drive with it loaded on (though I was a major bitch about it and required them to purchase it from ADTR's website. I refuse to illegally download their music. That's how much I love the band).  
**_


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